


dark necessities are part of my design

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Anal Sex, Body Modification, Bottom Dean, Castration, Cock Warming, Comeplay, Consent Issues, Crying, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Enemas, Face-Fucking, Feminization, First Time, Intercrural Sex, John's moral demise, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Master John, Master/Slave, Misogyny, Nipple Play, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Punishment, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sexual Slavery, Slave Dean, Spanking, Spanking with a hairbrush, Spit As Lube, Top John, Unconventional forms of lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8144824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Written for the prompt: John/Dean, master/slave, body modification, castration, feminization. Wherein John buys Dean as a slave, modifies Dean's body to his liking, and has his way with him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Full Prompt](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/109778.html?thread=41135058#t41135058): John goes to slave market looking for a young bed slave, preferably one with features similar to his deceased wife. None of the young girl slaves look even a bit close to how Mary looked, but when he goes to inspect the boy slaves, he finds Dean, who has blond hair, green eyes, and freckles just like Mary. He decides that the boy will have to do and makes the purchase, then goes through the shop's catalogue of body modifications. Since he's had to resort to buying a boy to get the physical features he prefers, having his new slave castrated is a must, and John decides to have Dean clean-cut (both cock and balls) so he'll be totally smooth and therefore more like a girl. He also opts to have a subcutaneous estrogen implant put in so that Dean's body will develop more like a girl's as he gets older, growing breasts and wider hips. Once Dean heals, he's brought to John's home where John immediately inspects the surgeon's handiwork and begins training Dean to pleasure him. Even as John fucks Dean, he should be somewhat focused on admiring how much prettier Dean looks now that his nasty boyhood is gone. John can even feminize Dean's name, but please don't have John start calling Dean by Mary's name. 
> 
> Other kinks are welcome. Don't reprompt with characters changed.
> 
>  
> 
> Please read the tags/warnings. They are, in fact, very literate. Tags will be updated as chapters are added. If there's something you think should be tagged and isn't, let me know and I'll get to it :)
> 
> I'm not really one for biology, so this goes without saying, handwave the actual anatomy related things. 
> 
> I hope to have the whole thing posted by the end of the week!
> 
> title from dark necessities by the rhcp

Mary’s passing leaves John feeling lonely, sad. Most days, he simply goes through the motions, goes to work, comes back home, gets drunk until he falls asleep in his armchair since no one’s there to see him. 

It’s Mike who suggests it, eventually, nearly a year after Mary’s passing.

“Jen and I got one just a few weeks ago, to help her around the house, you know, and she’s been a huge help,” he says while hidden under Mr. Lee’s Ford. “I bet you could use some help, too, John.”

“I don’t know, Mike.” John shrugs. The idea doesn’t sit well with him. “I don’t know if Mary would want that,” he says.

“Well, Mary would want you to happy, right?” Mike reasons. “Anyway, think about it, John. Now hand me the wrench.”

+

John does think about it. He has a lot of time to do nothing but think, really. 

Mike is right, John knows; John could use the help. But the thought of letting someone - a stranger - inside the house, inside Mary’s kitchen, where she made sure everything sat just so and didn’t let John mess it up makes him feel more like a traitor and less than a husband.

It wouldn’t be just anyone, though. It would someone who was properly trained for this, someone who would know how to take care of the house the way it deserves to be taken care of, someone who doesn’t half ass whatever house chores they can bring themselves to do like John. 

Someone who knew how to take care of John, too, maybe. John hasn’t been celibate since Mary’s death - he is a man, he has needs, after all - but none of the women he had felt right. They were either too brunette, or their faces were too angled or too sweet. They were too unlike Mary. 

But a slave, John could make sure the slave felt right, bore the proper kind of resemblance.

John finds he likes the idea of that, someone who looks like Mary to keep him company. He wonders if he could find someone like that in one of the slave facilities in Kansas.

+

The next day, John asks Mike where he and Jen got their slave from, and doesn’t miss Mike’s smug grin as he hands John the Facility’s phone number. 

John calls as soon as he gets home that evening to book an appointment. The lady on the line asks him for what kind of slave he’s looking for, and John hesitates for moment, then reasons that this woman can’t possibly know what mary looked like. “Blonde hair, green eyes,” he says, “Freckles?”

“Do you have a gender preference, Mr. Winchester?” she asks him. 

John is somehow startled by that question. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of getting a boy. “Girl, of course,” he says, and tries not to sound offended by the insinuation that he might be into dick.

“I didn’t mean anything by that question, Mr. Winchester,” the woman goes on, utterly professional. “Certain clients like certain things, we’re in a position to cast judgement.”

John grunts vaguely. 

The woman doesn’t say anything else on the subject, just books John’s appointment. 

+

The day John has to go to the facility, he wears his cleanest pair of jeans and a button down shirt, one the nicer ones, the ones Mary had bought for him. He can’t say exactly why he does this. It’s not like these people will be checking his clothes; John will be giving them his money, and quite a lot of it, probably. 

When John gets there, he’s welcomed by a dark haired man in an expensive suit, who introduces himself as Castiel. “I’m one of the owners. I’ll show you around, talk to you about your options. Is that okay?” he has a very gruff voice, but he’s polite. 

“Yes, I - I’m John John Winchester,” John says. 

“You mentioned on the phone, you were looking for someone with blonde hair, green eyes; a slave of sexual nature?” Castiel asks. He gives John an intense stare as he waits for his answer. 

“Uhm, yes,” John fumbles, excited, maybe. 

Castiel nods and starts heading down the hallway, towards a set of heavy, wooden doors. “Do you have a preference as to the age of the slave?”

John shakes his head, then says, “No, I, uh, I hadn’t really thought about that.”

Castiel gives him a polite smile over his shoulder. “Not to worry, Mr. Winchester, I’m sure we’ll be able to find someone to your liking,” he says. He pulls open the door and gestures for John to walk through. 

John has never been to one of these facilities before, but he expected it more luxurious, maybe. This is just a sterile room, slaves standing in front of the walls on either side of the door, their heads bowed. There is one other couple in the room, and another man in a suit is chatting with them in a quiet voice. 

John is a little overwhelmed, but Castiel patiently shows him through a few different slaves, all of them blonde-haired and green-eyed, freckled, just as John had requested, but none of them are right. He shakes his head when Castiel gestures at them, and huffs when he asks John what he’d like more or less of after each one, because John doesn’t know, not beyond, “She just doesn’t look right.”

Castiel makes a thoughtful face after the ninth slave he shows John and John rejects. “Mr. Winchester, I know you specifically asked for a female slave, but if you would allow me, I think I may have a boy that suits your requirements,” he says. He smiles subtly to himself and amends, “The rest of your requirements at least.”

John is not quite sure what to make of that. He remembers his reaction on the phone the other day, but he think he may be running out of options. There is nothing wrong with looking, after all, so John shrugs, and lets Castiel guide him to yet another display. He’s not expecting much to come out of it, but it only takes one glance at the boy to realize what Castiel meant about him and John’s requirements. The boy has sandy hair and a freckled nose, just like John asked, and pink, full lips that John has a hard time imagining on a man. The boy’s eyes are downcast, so John can’t make out their color, but his stomach twists sharply nonetheless, something like want starting to shimmer low in his belly. 

“Mr. Winchester,” Castiel prompts, and John realizes he’s probably been staring at the slave for too long. 

“Can I,” John’s voice comes out rough, and he has to pause to clear his throat. “His eyes?”

“Of course,” Castiel says, “Slave, eyes up.” He doesn’t speak in the polite murmur he uses to address John, his voice is cold now, makes the slave’s eyes snap up tp John’s throat and no higher, a showing of submission. 

John thinks, somewhat deliriously, that the slave’s eyes are, in fact, green. Green and wide and framed by thick lashes that John wants to see when they’re wet. 

“His name is Dean, though that’s subject to change once he’s owned,” Castiel informs him.

John is abruptly reminded that Dean is a boy and can’t help but wonder what a  _ waste  _ that is. He can’t help but imagine Dean with longer hair and wider hips, breasts in place of a flat chest, and has to take a deep breath to calm himself in front of Castiel. 

“I don’t mean to be presumptuous, Mr. Winchester, but you seem rather taken,” Castiel says.

John ducks his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “Yes, well,” he says, “he’s very pretty. But still a ‘he’.”

Castiel smiles, like he knew John would say that. “Slave, eyes down,” he says to Dean, and Dean doesn’t hesitate. “How about we move this to one of the private rooms, give you a chance to inspect the slave more thoroughly, and I can walk you through our body modification options.”

That surprises John. “Body modification options? We could do that? Make him more…” he trails off, uncertain is he should go into detail in front of the boy. 

“Female?” Castiel finishes for him, which John supposes settles it. “Of course,” he says. 

+

Castiel takes John to another room, a much smaller one with a sitting area and better lighting, and has him take a seat on one of the couches. 

“Dean is an excellent slave, Mr. Winchester. He’s trained as both a sexual slave and a domestic, so he’s also able to handle household chores excellently, if that’s something you’d like from him,” Castiel tells him, while they wait. 

“Oh. I - that would be nice, actually,” John says. Honestly, if Dean were a girl, John would have readily thrown his money at Castiel and he and Dean would be on their way by now. As it is, though, John wants to hear what Castiel has to suggest. 

Castiel gives him a polite, professional smile, but it dims after a moment. “I should warn you,” he starts, slow like he doesn’t really want to say this. “Dean is what we in the business call a, uh, praise slut. It’s just the way he’s built, not something that can be trained out of him. Some owners justifiably shy away from that.”

Maybe Castiel can recognize the clueless look on John’s face, because he explains. “A praise slut means that he needs a lot of praise to feel happy in his service. I know, it’s not ideal, and if you think that this might be something you won’t like, then I don’t think Dean is the right slave for you.”

John thinks about that for a minute and then shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” he says honestly. 

Castiel smiles again, something more akin to relief this time. 

Another employ brings Dean in a couple of minutes later, and Castiel has him stand in the middle of the room and strip. 

“Present for Mr. Winchester, Dean,” Castiel tells him. 

The order has Dean clasping his hand behind his back, out of the way, and spreading his feet, putting himself in display. John can’t help but frown at his small cock, resting limp between his thighs. 

Castiel must notice because he chuckles and grabs a clipboard before joining John on the couch. “Don’t worry about that, we can fix it,” he says lightly. 

John keeps his eyes focused on Dean, but the slave doesn’t react in any way. Still, he asks, “Should we - should we be talking about this in front of him?”

Castiel quirks his head to the side and gives John a look like he’s being unreasonable. “Mr. Winchester, a slave’s purpose is to please their Master. If you feel uncomfortable discussing this in front of Dean, then that’s quite alright, but I can assure you, Dean has no preference either way,” he says. 

John feels drunk with power all of a sudden. He thinks about what it would feel like to have Dean living with him, to feel like this all the time. 

He clears his throat when he realizes Castiel is waiting for some sort of response. “No, I’m - I’m fine talking about this in front of him.”

“Okay then, let’s begin,” Castiel says happily. He picks up his pen and walks John through the list of procedures on his clipboard.

“Now, I assume from the look on your face earlier you would like to have the slave castrated?” Castiel waits for John’s nod and then jots something down on his clipboard. “Would that be both the testicles and the penis?”

That gives John pause; he hadn’t considered it. “You can do both?” he asks, impressed.

“Of course, Mr. Winchester. In fact, my personal slave has had the same procedure done to him,” Castiel says proudly. “Though, some of the side effects include reduced hair growth, reduced muscle mass and gain, higher pitched voice, and lack of a sex drive. The slave will at all times be able to serve you sexually, of course, they will just have no sexual urges themselves. Will that be a problem for you?”

John didn’t want a girl so he could get her off, so he says, “No, I don’t think so.”

“Testicles and penis it is then.” Castiel nods. 

Dean makes a tiny squeaking noise at that, so quiet that if he weren’t shaking, John would have thought he had imagined it. He thinks about saying something, asking the boy if he’s alright, but Castiel gives no indication he’s heard him and Castiel knows a lot more about slaves than John does, so John follows his lead. 

“I should clarify, the slave will be able to achieve orgasm through prostate stimulation, but his orgasms will be dry. The first three months after the surgery, I'd recommend not engaging with him sexually that way, just to make sure everything heals, but after that, once or twice a month will be good to keep his hormones nice and balanced.”

Castiel waits for John’s nod to show he understands and then scribbles something on his clipboard.

They move to estrogen implants after that, which Castiel assures him are the surest way to give Dean a more feminine build. 

“What about - breasts?” John asks, before Castiel can move to the next item on his list.

Castiel hums and gives Dean an assessing look. “At his age, the estrogen implants coupled with the castration will most definitely result in breast growth, though that would be one cup at most,” he says, “Implants are an option, if you’d like that.”

John has always preferred large breasts over smaller ones and he thinks this is the perfect opportunity to get exactly what he wants. “Yes, I think I’d prefer that,” he says.

“Then I would suggest starting from an A cup and once breast growth has finalized, we'll take it from there?” That doesn’t sound agreeable to John’s image of having his nose buried in Dean’s breasts, but he can see the logic in the approach. 

“I would also suggest, since you’re going for a more feminine look, permanent hair removal?” Castiel proposes. “Obviously, it’s still pretty early to worry about that with Dean, but I have found it’s just easier to get this over with now.”

John agrees and they go over everything one more time and then Castiel has him sign the ownership papers.

“Is that it?”

“That’s it, Mr. Winchester. We will call you in four weeks so we can make the arrangements for him to come home with you.”

+

For the next few weeks, John feels restless, on edge. It takes him a while to realize what it is just because it’s been so long since he’s last felt it, but it’s anticipation. Anticipation for Dean’s arrival. 

Mike teases him about it a few times, gently like he’s afraid John might snap into his old habits if pressured too hard. Honestly, Mike might be right, but for the first time in months John bothers to go to the grocery store for something other than booze, and even makes a half-hearted attempt at tidying up the place. He doesn’t get much done, of course, that was always Mary’s responsibility, but he’s not too worried now about that now that Dean is coming.

+

The day the Facility finally calls to tell him Dean is ready, John is at the garage. He fumbles through asking Mike if he’ll be alright handling the day’s workload on his own, and then has Mike try to push him out the door. As it is, he manages to get home only a few minutes before his doorbell rings. 

Dean is wearing shoes this time, and clothes, real clothes, which just looks plain wrong to John’s eyes, makes him want to pull Dean inside and get him naked, finally see his new body.

Unfortunately, he can’t, he has to sign the release forms first. “If you’re unsatisfied with your purchase you can get an 80% refund if you return the product to the Facility  _ unharmed _ ,” the man who drove Dean here tells him, making sure to emphasize the last bit. 

John looks at Dean, at his lips that somehow seem even fuller than the last time John saw him and the hips that look wider, the fake breasts that John can just make out under the loose fitting clothes, and he’s pretty sure the return policy details won’t be necessary.

“Thank you,” he says, still. 

“Congratulations,” the guy says, walking away. 

John gestures for Dean to come inside, and closes the door behind them.

Dean keeps looking at the floor, and John knows that’s out of a respect for his Master, it’s the just the way Dean was trained, but he doesn’t like it. “Hey, Dean,” he starts, gently, crouching down so he can meet Dean’s eyes. “From now on, I want you to look at me, okay? No more looking at the floor or my neck or whatever, I want you to look at  _ me _ .”

Dean narrows his eyes at John like he’s perplexed by this request, but after a couple of seconds he nods. “Yes, Sir,” he says, and god, it sounds so sweet coming from his mouth, makes John feel lightheaded. 

John takes a deep breath and straightens up again. He wants nothing more than to rip Dean’s clothes off him and look his fill, but he’s civil, he can wait. “So, tour?” he suggests, with great difficulty. 

“Yes, Sir.” Dean nods and falls in step behind John as John shows him around. He starts with the living room first, then the dining room, and finally the kitchen. Dean doesn’t say anything about the mess that John tried and failed to clean up, but John can see him assessing everything. 

“I leave for work at eight and come home at seven, pretty much,” John says. He isn’t sure how Dean is to entertain himself during the hours John is away from home, but Castiel assured him that slaves have no problem looking after themselves.

Dean nods. “I understand, Sir. Will you need breakfast and dinner then?”

John blinks. “Oh. Uhm, sure,” he says, uncertain. He keeps comparing Dean to what John was like and what he knew at Dean’s age, but he supposes he shouldn’t. They’ve had different upbringings, after all.

“Do you have any more questions before we move upstairs?”

“Yes, two, Sir.” Dean waits for John to nod before continuing. “What would you like me to call you, and are you allergic to anything.”

John almost wants to laugh at Dean’s diligence; he wonders if every slave is like this. “‘Sir’ is okay. And no, I don’t.”

John shows Dean around upstairs, and then takes him to his room. “This is where you’ll be sleeping,” he says, and watches as Dean takes in the place. “Do you like it?”

Dean nods quickly. “Yes, Sir,” he says. His voice is soft, not too high but not too deep either. Castiel had told John that it would take a while for the estrogen to affect Dean’s vocal chords, so John’s not worried. 

“It’s very generous, Sir, thank you,” Dean goes on. The room is not much, just a bed, a dresser and a desk, but Dean sounds like he truly means it.

John gives Dean a smile and goes to sit on the edge of the small bed. It’s too low for him, but it should work fine for Dean. He pats the mattress next to him and gestures for Dean to come closer.

Dean does, hesitant, and John isn’t sure if that’s his default setting or if he’s shy because he and John don’t know each other yet. 

John also isn’t sure what the protocol here is, but he can feel his cock hardening in his jeans, and he knows Dean will be able to see it pretty soon. He decides to just say it. “Dean, I want to see you naked. Is that okay?”

Dean gives him a strange look from across the room, like he can’t figure John out. After John doesn’t say anything else, Dean says, “Of course, Sir.”

John gestures for Dean to move forward and Dean readily steps between his legs. This close, John can spot the flush on his cheeks which makes him look even younger. He settles his hands on Dean’s hips and slips his fingers under the hem of his baggy sweater so he can pull it over Dean’s head. 

Dean is wearing a bra underneath, which for some reason surprises John. It shouldn’t, he supposes; Dean has breasts now, breasts that John ordered for him, and they look good. They look better than John expected, and so much more real. He reaches out and cups one in his palm without asking, but Dean only sighs, shoulders going lax before he can stop himself. 

“You like them, Dean?” John teases, running his thumb over where he gauges Dean’s nipple to be. 

“I want to please you, Sir,” Dean breathes. His ears are red now, same as his cheeks. “I - I like that they please you.” He sounds - relieved, oddly.

The material of the bra is scratchy and cheap under John’s palm, but Dean’s skin is soft. John lets his other hand drift up Dean’s flat stomach to see the muscles quiver. “Were you worried I wouldn’t like them?” John asks carefully. He leans in and mouths at Dean’s nipple through the bra, getting the fabric wet with plenty of spit. 

Dean squirms between John’s legs, not like he’s trying to get away but more like this is all too much for him. John gently closes his teeth over his nipple, and that makes him whine, high pitched and - fuck, girly, going straight to John’s dick. 

“Dean, I asked you a question,” John reminds him. He uses his fingers to pinch Dean’s other nipple, a bit harder this time. 

“Sir, I - ” Dean chokes on his breath but remains pliant under John’s hands and mouth. John thinks that’s pretty spectacular. “Yes,” he finally admits, his voice quiet and shy. “I was worried you wouldn’t like me.” 

John pulls back to meet his eyes, surprised, and Dean makes a soft noise at the loss of his mouth. 

Dean must mistake John’s stopping for anger, because he starts backtracking almost immediately. “I didn’t mean it like that, Sir, I only, I mean, I want to please you and I - ” He’s fumbling for words, not making any sense, so John takes pity on him. 

“Dean,” John says, “I want you to listen to me.” 

Dean leans forward, imperceptibly, like he doesn’t want to miss a word that comes out of John’s mouth. His eyes widen, and he looks at John with such earnestness and trust that John knows, he could say anything now and Dean would believe him. It’s such a power trip, and John distantly thinks that having so much power over a single person should scare him, somehow, only it doesn’t; it excites him. 

“I love your new body,” John says very clearly, even though he’s so far only seen just a part of it, but he can’t imagine saying anything else. He thinks, right now, if he is anything less than enthusiastic about the way Dean looks after all the modifications John has had done to him, it will break Dean completely, and John wouldn’t dream of that. 

Dean bites his lip and ducks his head shyly. John grins to himself; Dean is just so easy to read. It’s refreshing. 

John slips his arms around Dean’s slender waist and hugs him to his chest. He can feel Dean’s breasts pushing into him like this, and he moves to unclasp Dean’s bra.

Dean sighs once his breasts come loose; they’re not big enough to bounce - not yet, at least John hopes - but they’re perky and soft and John can’t help mouthing at them. Dean sucks in a sharp breath when John start using his teeth, and John pulls back to ask him if he’s okay. 

“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be loud,” he says softly.

John sighs, plays up his disappointment in Dean to see if it will get him anywhere. It does: Dean’s eyes widen again, and his nostrils flare, like he can’t believe he just let down his Master. 

“Dean,” John says, before the slave can legitimately hyperventilate. “I’m only displeased when you lie to me.” He tries to sound as authoritative as possible and the words feel strange in his mouth. 

Dean’s eyes water however, and he gives a small nod. “I’m sorry, Sir. They’re still - sensitive,” he admits, turning away like he’s ashamed. “From the surgery.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, baby,” John murmurs sweetly. Dean’s eyes snap back to his, and John didn’t think it possible, but he thinks Dean might blush even more. 

It clicks for John, and he smiles. “You like that? Me calling you  _ baby _ ?”

Dean nods. He says, “Yes, Sir,” in his sweet, breathy voice and John is so gone.

“Alright, baby,” he starts, rolling the word on his tongue. He thinks it suits Dean. “I’ll be gentle, is that okay?” John promises, and he is. He keeps his lips soft and his tongue soothing as he licks Dean’s breasts, even though on the inside, he chastises himself for having shaved that morning; he thinks beard burn would look good on Dean, in this spot in particular.

“Is that better, baby?” He pulls back to ask after a moment. When he leans back in, he takes one of Dean’s nipples between his lips and sucks until it hardens in his mouth, mindful of the pressure.

Dean doesn’t answer verbally. He arches his back a little, pressing his breasts into John’s mouth, and a small noise escapes him, something between a moan and a whimper, and John works his nipple between his teeth so he can hear it again. Once Dean starts to squirm, John latches onto his other nipple, using his hands to gently cup his tits. 

“I want to see the rest of you, baby, is that okay now?” John says, after a few minutes. His dick throbs in his jeans and he presses his palm against it to get some relief. 

Dean nods. He clasps his hands behind his back as if he wants to give John better access to his body.

John hooks his fingers into the waistband of Dean’s loose sweats and slowly drags them down the boy’s slim hips. John can feel Dean’s gaze on him, waiting for his Master’s reaction, so he schools his features, not sure what to expect. The skin between the slave’s legs is smooth and bare, except for a small nub, barely the size of a quarter, right where his penis used to be. John is surprised to feel his mouth water at the sight, and has to clear his throat.

“Look how smooth you are, baby,” he says. He sounds awed, even though Castiel had showed him pictures of patients pre and post op before John signed off on the surgery. But it’s different to have the real thing before his eyes.

“Is it - ” Dean chokes on his breath when John moves his fingers close to his groin, just shy of touching the sensitive area. “Is it what you wanted, Master?” he asks. 

John is nodding before Dean is even finished with his question. He can’t tear his gaze away from Dean’s groin, the newfound smoothness there. He almost scolds himself for staring, but then again Dean is a slave, he’s  _ John’s  _ slave, and if John wants to to stare at him, he can. 

Almost as if in a trance, John takes his thumb and gently runs it over the small bump. It’s smooth and hard and the skin around it is vaguely swollen, like it hasn’t completely healed yet.

He does it again, a little more pressure this time, and Dean shudders, a full bodied one that seems to affect his balance. John jerks his hand away but reaches out to steady him. “Okay?” he asks, worried.

Dean shakes his head like it’s foggy. “Sorry, Sir. I was surprised,” he says. 

John doesn’t think that’s the whole truth, but he can see Dean just wants to please him, so he doesn’t push. He slowly moves his hand back to where it was and resumes his stroking. He keeps his touch as gentle as he can stand, which is a challenge for him. All his life John’s been working with hard tools and cars. His fingers have grown calloused and rough over the years, but this requires a different sort of touch. 

“How does it feel? Tell me.” John is hardly using any pressure at all now, but Dean has started to tremble where he’s standing between his legs. 

“It - it’s different, Sir, I don’t know how to explain it,” he whispers. John can see sweat breaking out over his brow bone.

“Does it feel good?” John asks, genuinely curious. Castiel hadn’t mentioned anything about direct stimulation, he’d just focused on Dean’s prostate, but John wants to know now. 

Dean doesn’t answer right away, and John can see him struggling, so he says, “Tell me the truth, it’s okay.”

“It’s sore, mostly, Sir,” Dean admits. His face is red all over again, this time with something more like shame, John thinks.

“Hey, it’s okay. We can wait a while and try again, once it’s healed,” John tells him softly. He doesn’t know Dean very well yet, but he’s pretty sure Dean will beat himself up about it, see it as a failure, but John doesn’t meant to cause him pain.

“You’ve been really good for me so far, you know,” John goes on. He strokes his thumb over the scar between Dean’s legs, where his balls used to be. “What else are you good at?” 

Dean swallows, but he obediently doesn’t take his eyes off John’s. “I’m a slave, Sir. Slaves don’t brag,” he says simply. 

“Well, is it bragging if I asked you?” John reasons. 

Dean seems to think about that for a moment. “At the facility, I was most often praised for my cooking,” he says finally. 

John shakes his head, fond. He’s touching Dean in his most private parts, and Dean’s thinking about how to honestly and precisely answer John’s question. 

“And? What else?” He’s hard now, his dick pressing against the buttons of his jeans, just from the anticipation and from looking at Dean. He lets his legs fall open a bit more and puts his hand high on his thigh. 

“Sitting still, Sir. Taking whatever punishment my Master gives me,” Dean says. 

John makes a considering noise. He presses his palm into his hard dick and breathes out sharply. “What about this?” he asks, popping open the first button on his jeans. “Are you good at this?”

Dean nods, then seems to remember himself. “Yes, Sir,” he says. It comes out rough, not his usual softness, and John finds he likes him like this too. 

“Are you gonna show me then?” John asks, letting some impatience seep into his voice.

Dean picks up on it, and scrambles to get on his knees between John’s legs. His small hands go to John’s jeans and unbutton them the rest of the way with swift and precise movements. For a moment, John wonders what they have sexual slaves train on, if it’s dummies or actual people, then decides he doesn’t care, not beyond Dean coming to him untouched, which Castiel assured him he is. 

John lifts his hips when Dean starts dragging his jeans down. He leans back on his elbows after, and watches as Dean takes his cock out of his underwear. It looks obscenely large in Dean’s small, delicate fingers, and John doesn’t miss the way Dean’s eyes widen at the sight. 

“It’s okay, you can take it,” John says. He places a gentle hand on the back of Dean’s neck and strokes his fingers through the regrettably short hair there. “Right?”

Dean nods quickly. He strokes John’s dick a couple of times, spreading the precome down the shaft, and then licks a stripe along the underside that has John biting down on his tongue. Dean moves down to take each of John’s balls into his mouth and suck on them gently, his small hands holding John’s thighs apart. 

“There you go,” John breathes. He enjoys this for a moment, but it’s not taking him anywhere, and he’s feeling impatient tonight, so he tightens his fingers in Dean’s hair and pulls him back up to his cock. 

Dean’s pink lips wrap around the head and he sucks gently, mindful of his teeth as he tries to take John in. John knows he’s big, and Dean’s mouth feels maddeningly small around him, so he doesn’t push, lets Dean set the pace at first. After a few minutes, though, he starts growing restless again, and he sits up so he can meet Dean’s eyes. 

“Can you try to take a bit more for me, Dean?” he asks with a soft smile.

Dean nods around John’s thick cock and tries to push himself down further. He goes far enough to make his eyes water and his throat twitch around the head of John’s dick, but that’s still only halfway and John has to fight down his frustration. 

“That’s good, Dean, but, uh, can you put both hands in your lap?” John suggests.

Dean looks up at him with open, watery eyes and nods. 

“Okay, I need you to take a deep breath and then I’m gonna push my dick in your mouth, okay? It’s gonna be hard, but I want you to try and take it,” John says. He rubs his thumb over the shell of Dean’s ear, a calming gesture, when Dean’s eyes grow wide. 

Once John feels Dean breathe, he clenches his fingers in his hair to hold him in place and thrusts up into his mouth, just a little bit, not even pushing down his throat, so Dean can get used to it. He does that a few times before instructing Dean to take another deep breath and pushing in a bit further. He feels the flutter of Dean’s throat around his cock this time, feels Dean fighting down his gag reflex and thinks they finally might be getting somewhere.

John pulls back to do it again, only Dean starts choking, spit dribbling down his chin and John’s cock, making an absolute mess. John sighs and pulls back some so Dean can breathe. 

“I’m sorry, Sir, I’m sorry I’ll - ” Dean tries to apologize, but John talks over him. 

“You said you’d try for me, Dean,” he says, playing it up so he’ll sound wounded. “You didn’t even try.” 

Dean is stunned silent. He blinks, once, and the tears finally spill over, some sticking to his lashes and some rolling down his cheeks. He’s not making any noise, just crying, and John remembers a few weeks ago at the facility, how he’d wondered how those lashes would look clumpy and wet, and knows whatever his brain came up then can’t do the real thing justice. 

John feels a sick thrill go through him at the sight of Dean like this, on his knees, covered in spit and tears, looking up at John, and he feels disgusted at himself, but not disgusted enough to stop.

“Are you ready to try now?” he asks, knowing full well now what this word,  _ try _ , does to Dean. 

“Yes, Sir,” Dean says, and jesus, his voice is already fucked out, John can’t wait to hear it once he’s done with him. 

“Okay, deep breath,” John says, pushing his cock between Dean’s lips again. He goes deep right away this time, having lost his patience, feels the strain in Dean’s throat as he struggles to let John in.

“Yeah, that’s it,” John encourages, because he’s starting to pick up how this affects Dean, too, simple feedback.

“You’re doing good,” he says. Dean hums around him, John swears, and gives John the most adoring look, even though John is the one making him cry right now and pushing him down hard enough that Dean chokes on his dick. 

“A little deeper now, okay? Just a little, I promise, you’re doing so well, you can do a little more, I know you can,” John babbles. He’s close now, and it won’t take much, he can tell. He pushes in one last time, as deep as he can make it, and feels Dean’s throat spasm around him as he comes. 

Dean, impressively, swallows everything, doesn’t so much as balk at it even though John didn’t give him any warning. He looks up at John after, all adoring and sated, with John’s softening cock resting in his mouth, and John feels his dick jerk. He’s had a taste, and now he wants everything. He doesn’t think it will be more than a few minutes before he's hard again.

John takes Dean’s hand and lays him out on the bed. He puts his hands on Dean's soft thighs and gently pushes them apart so he can settle between them. Dean’s chest is red and he’s breathing heavily, looking up at John with wide, trusting eyes. John wonders if he’ll ever tire of that, the unconditional trusts Dean seems to be putting in his hands almost constantly. 

John saves that question for later. Now, he runs his hands up Dean’s thighs until his fingers are framing Dean’s groin. He thinks about touching Dean there again, but the nub already looks redder than before and John doesn’t want to cause Dean that kind of discomfort. He moves his hands to Dean’s ass instead, grabs two handfuls of it and hoists Dean up so he’s basically sitting in John’s lap.

John spreads Dean’s cheeks and finally takes a look at his hole, pink and tight and so small John wonders if it’ll be able to take all of him. He thinks not tonight, probably, but the thought doesn’t annoy him as much as he thought it would; he owns Dean, there will be many more nights and days after this one. 

“Have you ever taken anything here, Dean?” John asks him, rubbing his thumb over Dean’s hole. 

Dean’s breath hitches and his hips twitch ever so slightly. “I - toys, Sir. My fingers. So we could learn how to please our future Masters,” he says.

John bristles at that. “Has anyone touched you?” He puts more pressure on Dean’s hole but not enough to breach him. 

Dean’s eyes flutter and John does it again. “Just you, Sir,” Dean breathes. 

John hums, pleased by that. He takes his thumb away, ignoring the tiny sound of complaint Dean makes, and puts it in his mouth, getting it wet with spit. “How about the toys? How big were they?” He rubs at Dean’s hole again, pressing in until the muscle gives way and his thumb slips inside. 

Dean gasps, hole twitching where it’s starting to stretch. He’s tight, and John has to force himself to go slow and be gentle, just as he remembers doing with Mary their first time. 

“Not as big as you, Sir,” Dean says.

John’s confidence is not so directly tied to his cock size, but Dean’s answer still makes him smile. There’s something else there, too, though, something like apprehension on Dean’s part, and John hurries to reassure him. “Don’t worry, baby,” he murmurs, bending down so he press his lips to Dean’s cheek. “I won't have you take it all tonight. We can practice.”

If anything, that just winds Dean up tighter. “But, I can, Sir, I can take you - ” he protests. 

John shushes him. He can feel how tight Dean still is around his finger, and maybe Dean does think that he can take John, but John would rather not take any chances. “I know you can,” he still indulges him. “But this is your first time with a man. I don’t want you to hurt after, okay?”

He can see the sweetness of his words getting to Dean when Dean nods and relaxes back into the mattress. 

John grabs the vaseline from the bedside table, where he made sure to stock it earlier. He slicks up his index finger and slips it into Dean. Dean takes it easily enough, and when he starts pushing back into John’s hand, John adds another finger. This time it’s more of a challenge, Dean choking on his breath when John first pushes inside, but John pauses and lets him adjust.

“I’m gonna do three, now, okay?” John says, not really a question but more so Dean knows what he’s doing. “Want you nice and stretched for me.”

Dean jerks when John starts pushing three fingers inside, but doesn’t otherwise move. He takes a deep breath instead and sets his jaw, spreading his legs further for John. 

“Yeah, that’s good, baby, let me in,” John murmurs, wiggling his fingers in deeper. Once they’re as deep as he can get them, he starts scissoring them, preparing Dean for his cock. 

Dean hisses like he’s in pain, and when John looks at him, he finds his eyes screwed shut, his face pinched. 

“Hey, you’re okay. You’re doing so good,” John keeps murmuring as he fucks Dean with his fingers. He pushes in and curls his fingers up towards Dean’s stomach, pressing until he feels Dean’s jerk around him and then go lax in increments. “There you go.”

“Here, let’s turn you around.” Dean lets John move him around how he pleases, until he’s kneeling on the bed with his chest on the mattress, his ass high up in the air. 

John slicks himself up with plenty of vaseline and presses against Dean’s stretched hole. He feels Dean tense under him and suppresses his sigh. He makes his tone as sweet as he stand with his dick throbbing like this, and says, “Hey, don’t be scared, baby. I’ll only give you the tip, okay?”

“Now arch your back for me, come on.” 

Dean does, curling down enough that it looks both painful and incredibly hot.

John curls one hand around Dean’s hip and uses the other to hold his cock steady. He pushes, not too hard at first but increasing the pressure as he goes, but Dean just clenches up on him. John pulls back and tries again, but Dean refuses to let him in, clenching up every time John tries to push inside.

“Come  _ on _ ,” John hisses the fourth time, and just barely resists rolling his eyes at Dean’s apologetic whine. He knows he shouldn't snap, he’s big and Dean’s hole is just so small, but John hasn’t fucked anyone in weeks and Dean is supposed to be fucking trained for this. “Just - spread your legs,” John tells him. 

Dean scrambles to obey, spreading his knees far enough that his little dick almost touches the bedspread. He has his face half buried into the bedspread and he keeps mumbling something but John can’t make it out now. “Hold yourself open,” he says. 

Dean scrambles to grab his ass cheeks, holding them apart and baring himself to John. His thighs are trembling now, and John can hear the near-constant hitch in his breath, but he can’t hold off anymore, he  _ needs  _ this now.

John grabs his cock again and presses the tip against Dean’s rim. He pushes in sharply and all at once instead of building up to it like before, and it fucking works. Dean’s hole opens up enough for John to slip his cock inside, and John promises to be so much fucking better tomorrow, but for now he pushes and pushes, unrelentless, until Dean lets out a horrible whimpering sound that hits John both in his cock and in his chest.

John stills for a few moments, trying to catch his breath. He swears his can feel Dean’s rim pulsing around him, like it’s stretched so far it might just snap. He looks down between them, at Dean’s small hands still holding his cheeks apart, and has to bite his tongue. Dean’s hole is red and tense and slick with vaseline, obviously trying to adjust to John’s girth even though only the tip of his dick is inside him. Looking at that, John wants nothing but to push the rest of the way inside, bury himself in deep, but he knows he shouldn’t. He could very well split Dean apart is he’s not careful with him, and John wants to be careful with him. 

With a sigh, John bends over Dean and starts pressing soft kisses all over his back, his shoulders, the side of his face, wherever he can reach. “That’s it, baby, I’m not going any deeper,” he murmurs, guilty when Dean doesn’t stop sniffling. “It’s okay now, you can relax.”

It’s difficult, but John keeps still long enough for Dean to get used to the hard cock inside him. He waits him out with soft touches and softer kisses, until Dean stops feeling quite so smotheringly tight around him.

John starts rocking gently, hardly an inch at a time, getting Dean accustomed to the sensation of being fucked like this. He does this as long as he can bear before pulling out completely, listening for the wet, fucked out sound Dean’s hole makes as it tries to close after John’s cock. It’s can’t, it’s too loose, but John likes watching it as it clenches around nothing. 

John pushes his dick back in, no deeper than he went the first time, as he promised, and pulls back out, just so he can watch Dean’s hole struggle to close and fail. He does it again and again, watching, listening as Dean’s starts to whine pitifully. His little fingers have left white indents along his crack now with how hard he’s holding onto his cheeks. 

“You feel so good, Dean,” John manages to get out, somehow sensing that Dean needs this sort of encouragement now. 

Dean nods into the pillow, his delicate fingers trying to spread his cheeks open more.

“Fuck, you're so wet, better than a girl,” John grunts, and it’s true. He’s used so much vaseline that Dean’s messy with it now. 

John wraps his arm around Dean’s chest, fumbles for his tits. He finds Dean’s nipple and twists his fingers around it, rougher than he’s dared be so far, and feels Dean’s hole clamp down on his dick. “You like that?” he mumbles, and keeps doing it, letting Dean’s hole milk his cock.

Most of John’s cock is still not in Dean’s ass, so he wraps his still slick fingers around it and starts jerking off, hard and fast. His knuckles bump into Dean’s rim on every stroke, making both of them shiver. 

John finally comes with a grunt, spilling his seed inside Dean’s slack hole. He pulls out right after and looks down at Dean's hole, loose and swollen, can’t help but think about how it would look if it had taken the full length of his cock instead of just the tip. He rubs his thumb around the rim, and some of John’s shallowly fucked come trickles out. John drags two fingers through it and pushes it back into Dean. 

Dean gasps but doesn’t so much as twitch, just holds himself open as John continues to fuck him with his fingers. After a couple of minutes, John hooks his fingers into Dean’s rim and drags his come back out so he can start all over again, until Dean’s hole looks properly sloppy.

John lays down next to Dean afterward, pretends to be surprised when he finds him crying. “Hey, hey, baby, what’s wrong?” he asks, gathering Dean into his arms. 

Dean sniffles and buries his face in John’s throat. John strokes his hair, soothing. “It was a lot, huh?” he murmurs.

Dean nods without raising his head. After a few minutes, he asks, “It was good, right, Master?”

Not for the first time since Dean was delivered to his house, John thinks he’s catching a glimpse of the ‘praise slut’ inside Dean, as Castiel had called it. Now that he’s come John finds that Dean’s needs for reassurance and soft touches grates on him a lot less. He thinks he even might like it as he feels Dean’s nose pressing into his collarbone, his slim fingers clinging to John.

+

John wakes up the next morning feeling guilty. He remembers how he treated Dean, how Dean’s lashes had gotten stuck together with tears, and feels a strange curl in his stomach.

He goes downstairs to find Dean making breakfast in the kitchen. He’s dragged the stool Mary used to use to reach the top shelves in front of the stove and is standing on it, looking over what’s cooking.

Once he hears John come in, he throws a smile over his shoulder, says, “Good morning, Sir,” and a few minutes later he’s setting a plate of food in front of John, eggs, scrambled like there’s nothing wrong at all.

“Dean,” John starts, tongue feeling thick in his mouth. “I wanted to apologize for last night.” 

Dean tilts his head to the side. “I'm sorry, Sir, I don't understand. What for?” he asks. 

John thinks ‘for everything that happened after you got on your knees’ would be a prompt enough answer, except the genuine confusion on Dean's face gives him pause. “I'm sorry. I hadn't meant to be this rough with you. I hurt you and I shouldn't have,” he says, careful with his words. 

Dean frowns, eyebrows twisting together in concentration. “I'm sorry I - may I speak freely, Sir?” 

John is started by Dean’s formality, but he gestures for him to go ahead. 

“I mean no disrespect, Sir, but you didn't hurt me,” he says softly. John is starting to think that his voice is just built that way, soft and unassuming.

“It makes me happy to please you,” Dean continues. “Last night, it was good for you?” His eyes meet John's, but only for a moment.

“Yes,” John says, honest. “Yes, of course it was.”

That makes Dean blush, pink and dusty under his freckles, so different from the vibrant red of last night. “Then you didn't hurt me, Sir. You made me happy,” he says. 

John feels something warm bloom in his chest, something he hasn't felt in a while, and it scares him. Half of him wants to tramp it down and never look at it again, maybe punish Dean for bringing it on him in the first place, but the other half wants to cherish it, cherish Dean with it. He can't deal with all that how, though, so he simply smiles. 

Dean returns it, hesitantly, but it’s good enough.

Then, abruptly, the smile abruptly falls from his face, and Dean drops to his knees. John jerks away, but Dean doesn't seem to notice. “If anything, I should apologize, Sir,” Dean says. He is looking at the floor, not at John.

“Hey, hey, what are you doing?” John scrambles to help him up. “What's wrong?”

“I was… ungrateful, Sir,” he sounds so deeply remorseful, wholly disappointed in himself, and it's painful for John to watch. “And I shouldn't have been.”

“Ungrateful,” John repeats. 

“Yes, Sir.” Dean nods.

John fumbles for the right words to handle this. “You did what I asked, though. How is that ungrateful?” he asks slowly.

Dean flushes. “I meant - after, Sir.”

John frowns. “After?”

“When you - when you held me,” he clarifies. Impossibly, that makes him blush harder than anything else. “It has been said that I am needy, Sir,” Dean admits. “That I beg for praise.” It sounds like it hurts him to get that last part out. 

Ah, John gets it now. He can why why that is, but he doesn't understand why Dean seems so ashamed of it. He wants to ask more about it, but he can see this is stressing Dean enough as it, so he decides to shelve it for another day. 

“You don't. And, anyway, I liked the after part, too, so you don’t need to worry.” It’s not hard to admit that, John realizes. Maybe it’s because Dean is a slave, he can’t pass John judgement. 

Dean seems unconvinced, but John supposes they have plenty of time ahead of them to work on that. 

“Now, sit with me,” John says, putting an end to the conversation. “Have you eaten?” he asks. 

Dean takes a seat next to John at the table and nods. “Yes, I already ate, Sir, thank you.”

John shrugs and digs in. Dean keeps him company while he eats, and when John’s finished, he takes away all the dishes and puts them in the sink. John thinks it’s nice not to have to worry about such things anymore, dishes and house work. 

Before John leaves, Dean hands him a paper bag with “Lunch,” he says, then wishes him a good day at work, like Mary used to do.

+

At work, Mike asks him how the new slave is, and John politely deflects, doesn't want to share yet, even with Mike. 

Mike gives him a sly smile like he understands, says, “Alright, you can have your way with her first,” and John doesn’t bother correcting because he supposes Mike is right, sort of.

+

When John gets home - later than usual because of a couple of last minute repairs - he finds the floor shiny and the carpets vacuumed. The kitchen smelling like lemon and the bathroom like chlorine, everything perfectly cleaned. He finds dinner waiting for him in the stove and smiles his way through eating it.

The only thing that would make tonight better would be Dean making John come, so John heads upstairs to Dean’s room, only to find him seeping. He debates waking him up, but decides against it. Dean is probably exhausted from all the cleaning, and his ass must be sore. And, anyway, there’s no hurry.

+

The next day, John makes sure to leave work earlier and drives by the pharmacy on his way home. He finds Dean awake this time, and they have dinner together, Dean taking care of the dishes once they’re done. 

After, John takes Dean upstairs and lays him out on the narrow bed. He doesn’t feel comfortable letting Dean into his room yet - the room he still thinks of as his and Mary’s. He takes off Dean’s clothes and has him spread his legs, opens him up slow and unhurried with store-bought lube this time, then nudges his way inside. 

John takes care to be gentle this time, and doesn’t go deeper than Dean can take him. Dean can’t come yet, he’s not healed enough for that, but John still tries to make it good for him, grinds against Dean’s prostate until he’s panting. After he comes, John pulls out slowly and places a kiss on Dean’s forehead, tells him he did good because he knows now how desperate Dean is to hear that. 

It’s better than the first time John had him, objectively, but it still leaves a weird itch in John’s chest that he can’t scratch.


	2. Chapter 2

John likes to drink, he knows this. He isn’t sure why, he just knows that alcohol makes all his problems look smaller, the hole in his chest feel shallower. Dean helps with that, too, and for the first two weeks that John’s had him John doesn’t have more than a couple of beers at dinner. But John is only human, and it’s natural that he slips up at some point. 

That point comes one evening after work, when John heads to a bar and drinks too much on an empty stomach. There’s a young brunette there, sitting at the bar and  throwing coy looks over her shoulder at him, but she looks all wrong. Her hair is far too dark, and her face spotless, and John can’t bring himself to bother with her. He just keeps drinking alone, until the owner eventually kicks him out at 2am. 

John knows he’s an angry drunk, Mary used to tell him, not that he drunk much when she was still around, so he’s not surprised when he returns home fuming and doesn’t remember how he got there. He slams the door shut behind him and kicks off his shoes, grabs a beer from the fridge and gulps it down. That familiar spot in his chest has started to ache again with loneliness, and he regrets not trying his luck with that brunette earlier. He thinks it’d be nice to have someone warm next to him right now, someone to spend the night with. 

John sighs. Well, that was a fucking missed opportunity on his part. The girl had been pretty, too, from what John could tell, and he bets she would feel good with her legs spread under him, not that he’ll ever know now. 

He drains the rest of his beer and goes to throw it in the trash, only his eyes fall on a plate sitting by the sink. There’s a post it note next to it saying how long John should heat it up for, and something warm and pleased settles in John’s stomach. It’s not enough to combat the ever-present emptiness that Mary’s death has left him with, but John realizes he doesn’t actually have to spend the night all alone in his and Mary’s old bed. He has Dean now; beautiful, perfect Dean, so eager to please John. 

John has to lean half against the wall to make it up the stairs; he hadn’t realized he had drunk this much. He worries his dick might fail him tonight, but he can already feel the dull buzz of arousal pulsing down to his groin, so he thinks he’ll be okay. 

John heads straight for Dean’s room and pushes the door open quietly. He fumbles for the light switch, but that much coordination proves to be too much for his drunken state, so he eventually gives up and settles for the hallway light. It’s still plenty; John can make out the shape of Dean sleeping peacefully on his side, covers pulled up to his chin. 

John approaches him quietly - he isn’t sure why, but it doesn’t matter; Dean’s eyes fly open as soon John sits down on the bed. 

“Sir, I - you’re back,” he rasps, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. John can’t help but think how cute he is. “Did you eat? Would you like me to heat it up for you?” Dean asks him, so eager to please even when he’s half asleep. He starts sitting up, trying to push the covers off, but John stops him. 

“No, no, I want you to stay right here,” he says. The words come out a little slurred, slow, and Dean nods hesitantly. 

“I wasn’t sure if I should have waited up for you? I am sorry, Sir, if I disobeyed you,” he says, quickly growing worried. 

John shushes him. He can’t deal with so many words from Dean right now, he just wants to  _ have  _ him. He takes the edge of Dean’s blanket and starts pulling it off him, getting it out of the way. 

Dean shivers at the change in temperature. His arms twitch at his sides like he wants to cover himself up but knows better than to try. He’s wearing one of the little nightgowns John got for him a few days ago, a simple, dusty pink one, and it looks good on him. 

“I want you to stay right there and let me have you,” John mumbles, mostly to himself. He puts his hand high on Dean’s hairless thigh and ruks up his nightgown, revealing a pair of white panties. John can see the small bump of Dean’s penis though the tight fabric, but he doesn’t feel like paying attention to that tonight. 

Dean shivers again when John pushes the gown up to his stomach. His nipples are hard from the cold, pressing against the thin fabric, and John’s mouth waters. He roughly pushes Dean’s thighs apart and settles between them, leaning down to blow cold air over Dean’s small tits. Dean squirms, his nipples tightening up further. 

“Look at that, baby,” John murmurs, leaning down to mouth at them through the nightgown. “Your nipples want me to pay attention to them.” He chuckles and bites at the hard numb over the fabric.

Dean lets out a pained gasp, but it’s quiet enough that John can easily ignore it and keep playing with nipples. He licks and bites at them until the fabric is sopping wet with his spit and then pinches each one between his fingers, rubs them through the sodden material.

Dean is whining near constantly now, and it grates on John’s patience. He thinks Dean should be grateful for the time John spends satiating his tits; he’s willing to bet other Masters aren’t this good to their slaves.

“Jeez, be quiet,” he hisses, pulling roughly at one of Dean’s nipples. 

Dean’s breath hitches, but he goes obediently silent, eyes wide and staring up at John apologetically. His lashes are wet, John notices, but that only makes him look prettier. 

Eventually, John tires of playing with Dean’s nipples without seeing anything, and he pulls Dean’s nightgown off. Dean doesn’t move fast enough though, so John ends up ripping the soft fabric open.

“Fuck, look at what you did,” John snaps. “I buy all these things for you, I take care of you, and you can’t even look after what I give you.” He’s not even that upset about the nightgown, it was cheap enough, John can buy Dean a new one, but it’s the principle of the matter. It’s Dean not being appreciative enough of John’s attentions. 

Dean’s eyes are brimming with tears, and when he blinks up at John, they spill over, running down his cheeks and onto the pillowcase under his head. “I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice is wet, sweet like John loves it. “I’m sorry, Sir, I didn’t - ”

John rolls his eyes. He backhands Dean’s thigh, high where the skin is soft and John knows it’ll hurt the most. Dean jerks in surprise, but it shuts him right up. It’s the first time John’s hit him, John notes idly, and it should feel monumental, or wrong, or something, but it just feels - normal; more than that, it feels like something’s finally slipping into place for John, and a huge weight is lifted off his chest. 

“I told you to be quiet,” John explains, an afterthought. His voice comes out surprisingly even. 

Dean opens his mouth, no doubt to apologize again, but seems to catch himself. He closes it and nods, and John smiles down at him. 

“That’s better.” John strokes a gentle hand over the place he just hit and feel Dean’s muscles quiver. “That’s my good girl,” John goes on, and that - that feels normal, too. It’s what John wants, after all, a girl with Mary’s looks to keep him company, and Dean is as close as John is going to get to that. 

“You like being my good girl, Dean?” John asks. Dean just keeps looking at him, all sweet and innocent, and John rolls his eyes. “You can answer,” he says. 

“Yes, Sir,” Dean breathes.

John hums, satisfied. “I thought so.” He hooks his fingers under Dean’s nightgown and pushes it the rest of the way up his chest. “Let’s get this off you.” 

This time, Dean manages to cooperate enough for John to get him naked.

Dean’s tits look soft and inviting like this, even more so than usual, and John reaches out to take them in his hands. The skin feels unbearably smooth under his calloused hands, has John wondering how it’ll feel once Dean’s tits have grown even bigger. 

“You feel like a girl here,” John murmurs. He presses his thumbs into Dean’s red, swollen nipples, and Dean chokes, chest rippling under John’s hands. 

“I love touching you here, you’re so sensitive.” John drags his fingernails down Dean’s supple tits, putting more pressure as he goes. He knows it must hurt - Dean keeps writhing under him despite his best efforts to keep still, and he makes a beautiful, wet noise when John presses down on his nipples. 

“I love the sounds you make,” John slurs. He digs his thumbnails into Dean’s nipples, and Dean jerks. His chest hollows like he wants to get away from John’s onslaught but can’t.

John cups his hand over the underside of Dean’s tit and leans down so he can suck it into his mouth. He licks around Dean’s nipple, gentle, and then bites down on the swollen nub until Dean whines above him. John pulls back to blow over the wet skin, watching as Dean’s nipple pebbles further. 

He moves to Dean’s other nipple then, paying it the same treatment, maybe even harder for the glorious sounds Dean makes. After, he rubs his stubble over Dean’s abused breasts, just like he’s wanted to since the first time he saw them and discovered how sensitive they were.

John moves to Dean’s groin, palming his small dick gently through his panties. “You even feel like a girl here, none of that nasty boyhood from before,” he murmurs. He presses the heel of his palm into what’s left of his dick and Dean’s legs twitch pitifully. “Don’t you agree, baby?” John asks him. 

Dean’s eyes are steadily leaking tears now, but they’re quiet ones. He gives John a weak nod. 

“Let me see you, now.” John taps Dean’s hip, and Dean lifts up so John can slip his panties off him. “Fuck, baby, I just want to eat you up,” he groans, and leans down so he can do just that. 

John closes his lips over Dean’s penis and suckles gently. He remembers vaguely something about having to wait a bit longer before he can touch Dean like this, but all that feels very distant now, and Dean feels so small and sweet in his mouth, John can’t imagine why he would want to pull back. 

“Sir,” Dean whispers wetly above him, but John pays him no mind. His little thighs twitch by John’s ears like he wants to close his legs, but John’s strong hands hold him open. “Master, please,” Dean begs, strained and quiet. He’s shaking all over now, and John can’t understand why; he’s only trying to make Dean feel good. 

John runs his tongue over the small bump, and Dean honest to god sobs at that, the first time John’s heard him do that. He hips jerk and he tries to squirm away from John’s tongue, which all strikes John as a little unappreciative. He grazes his teeth over Dean’s penis once, a warning, and when Dean doesn't stop moving and whining, he does it again, biting down this time. 

Dean’s hands go to John’s head then, start pushing him off, and with a surprising amount of strength for his size, he wrenches his legs out of John’s hold and brings them together, shielding his tiny dick from John. 

John sits there for a moment, stunned that Dean did that, that he disobeyed John so openly. Dean, for his part, seems just as surprised, staring up at John.

Then, abruptly, the color drains from Dean’s face and his lip starts quivering. His eyes water and he pushes his legs open, as far apart as they can go, his bony knees almost touching the mattress. He buries his hands under his pillow and pushes his chest and hips out, baring himself completely to John. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and then it’s like something breaks inside him and he can’t stop. “I’m so sorry, Master, I’m sorry I disobeyed you like this, I deserve to be punished, I’m yours to do with as you please, please punish me for my disobedience.” He sounds frankly terrified, and remorseful, and John knows, if he weren’t this drunk right now, it would break his heart in two, or three, or ten pieces even. 

As it is, though, he feels the nasty lumps of rage boiling in his stomach and thinks Dean has it right begging him for punishment. 

“Shut up,” John hisses, and Dean stops talking. “I give you - I give you everything. I treat you kindly,” he says, “and this is what you give to me?” The words are hard to get out, because John is angry, yes, but also because Dean’s disobedience stings like betrayal.

“This is what you give to me?” he asks again. Dean doesn’t answer, of course; he knows better than that. 

John looks down at him, spread out and at his mercy, and brings his hand down on Dean’s thigh, hard, so much harder than before. It lands with a sharp thump that leaves John’s palm hot and tingling, though he doubts it’s anywhere close to how Dean’s thigh feels. John doesn’t waste any time thinking about it, though, just does it again, the same spot, as hard as he can make it. 

The skin is already starting to turn a vibrant red, almost as bad as Dean’s nipples but nowhere near what John wants to see. He hits Dean again, and again, three, four, five times in quick succession, and even then, he only stops so he can shake out his hand. 

Dean takes it all quietly. He doesn’t move at all except for the tiny twitches of his muscles, but John can’t begrudge him those, they’re not his fault. At some point he starts crying, but even that is quiet. 

John doesn’t stop until Dean’s thigh is red and burning under his palm. He moves to the other thigh then, the left one, starts in on the same spot, hard, even hits that will leave Dean’s skin bruised and aching. At some point, a small whimper escapes Dean lips, and John looks up at him. He hesitates, because Dean has been so good about taking so far, and he knows Dean deserves it, but he doesn’t want to push Dean further than he can stand. Dean simply sets his jaw, though, so John brings his hand down again. 

He doesn’t remember how many times he slapped Dean on the first leg, but decides it doesn’t matter. He keeps going until his left hand is as numb as the right one, and then starts up on Dean’s right thigh again. He aims higher this time, a few inches from Dean’s groin, and Dean’s legs twitch when the first hit lands but he doesn’t move otherwise.

John debates going a bit lighter on this spot, but then he remembers Dean denying him, and the hot rage is back again, and coupled with the liquor pulsing through his system, he can’t think of a reason to do that. 

He spanks Dean there until the first noise he makes, a small gulp this time, like he’s trying to swallow down all the noises he does want to make. John decides to give him a break then, and moves onto the other thigh, finds the same spot. He hits hard and doesn’t let up his own hand forces him to, and by then Dean’s thighs are trembling and his lips are bitten bloody, lashes sticking together in wet clumps. 

Both of John’s palms are burning, and he bets it's the same for Dean’s thighs, but John doesn’t feel done yet. He curses himself for not having the foresight to buy some sort of flogger or cane, or other “disciplinary tool”, but it’s not like he can go out and get one now. He tries to think about what he  _ could  _ use, and somehow, his booze-drenched brain doesn’t fail him. 

“Wait here,” he says to Dean, and doesn’t check to see if Dean got it because he knows Dean wouldn't dream of disobeying him right now.

John stumbles his way to the master bathroom and rummages through the drawers until he finds what he’s looking for. He drinks down a glass of water while he’s there, too, and that clears up his brain somewhat. 

John walks back, and Dean bulks at the sight of what he’s holding. Something stirs in John. “Do you not think you deserve it?” he asks Dean calmly. 

Dean looks at him for a moment and then shakes his head. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. 

John settles back between his legs and runs the bristled side of the hairbrush over Dean’s reddened skin. He does it gently, but Dean shudders nonetheless, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. John does the same on the other side, and then starts spanking Dean’s thighs with the flat side of the brush. 

The wood makes a different sound from John’s hand. Dull and almost subdued, no matter how hard John hits. After a few minutes, John stops and rubs Dean’s thighs with his hands, feeling the burning hot skin under his palms. Dean jerks, but John doesn’t do it to soothe him. 

He does that for a while before picking up the brush again, this time going a bit lighter because he can tell he doesn’t need much to make Dean hurt. He delivers maybe a handful of blows to each thigh this time, and notices the skin close to Dean’s groin is starting to turn purple.

John stops then. He thinks if he keeps going the skin might break and he doesn’t want to injure Dean like that. He feels like he still needs to get this - thing - out of him though, so he tells Dean to turn around. 

Dean tries, but his muscles are stiff, so John helps him. He runs a strong hand from the top of Dean’s spine down to his waist, and presses down there to get to Dean to arch his back.

The skin of Dean’s ass is smooth and unmarked, so John doesn’t go easy on it. He alternates between Dean’s cheeks but hits hard each time. Every few seconds Dean will make a noise, a high, pained one and the knot in John’s stomach will uncoil, just a tiny bit. 

John spends a few minutes working the meaty parts of Dean’s ass, and then moves lower, at the spot where his ass meets his thigh. The skin there is a little bruised already, so John doesn’t work it too much, just long enough to make Dean whine and shake. He turns the brush around then and starts raking it over every inch of red skin he can find on Dean, pressing harder where the bruising is worst. 

After a point, Dean doesn't bother trying to muffle his noises anymore, or maybe he just can’t, and John doesn't ask him to. 

John feels drained, now, empty, but it’s not the lonely feeling from before. This one is deeper, like something inside him has finally been sated. 

He spreads Dean’s cheeks gently, and holds them like that with one hand while he bring the brush down on his hole with the other. Dean's breath hitches, and he chokes.

John wants to shove into Dean’s tight hole more than he remembers wanting anything in a while, but he knows he doesn’t have the patience required to work him open right now. He guesses this is the one part of Dean’s anatomy that can’t be altered, and it's not very convenient, but John doesn’t really mind it. Dean’s hole is tighter and more sensitive than any pussy John’s had, which sort of makes up for it.

“Get down, on your side,” John instructs him. He throws the hairbrush over the side of the bed, and it makes a loud thump as it lands on the floor. 

Dean is slow in his movements, but John can’t blame him. Dean settles on his side, and John lays down behind him. “Put your legs together,” John tells him. 

Dean gingerly pushes his thighs together. He hisses once bruised skin comes in contact, but doesn’t say anything. 

John wraps his hand around his dick and guides himself between Dean’s thighs, pushing against the tender flesh. He half-expected it to be dry and awkward, but Dean’s skin is sweaty enough, and John’s cock is steadily leaking by now, so it’s an easy slide. It’s not very tight, though, nothing close to Dean’s ass, and John knows Dean can do better than this. 

“Come on, squeeze my dick,” he tells him. Dean obeys him and John tries thrusting, but it’s not enough. 

“Come on, you seemed eager enough to close your legs before,” John spits out, harsh. He feels Dean tremble at the words, but they do the trick.

Dean tightens his thigh muscles, and John’s breath leaves his body like it’s getting punched out of him. “That’s it,” he gets out, starting to move his hips. “I can’t fuck your pussy, god knows I want to but I can’t - ” he shoves forward harshly, drawing a soft sound out of Dean - “but this isn’t half bad, baby.”

John wraps his arm around Dean's chest so he can play with his nipples. Dean bucks at the first touch of John’s hands on his tits, and John gives him a warning pinch, which is effective enough. He shoves his fingers in Dean’s mouth to get them wet and then starts rubbing them over his nipple.

“You feel so hot around me,” John murmurs, continuing to thrust between Dean’s thighs. “You’re gripping me so perfectly.” 

Every time he pushes forward, the tip of dick rubs over Dean’s groin, and when he pulls back, it catches on the throbbing skin of Dean’s thighs. John imagines that after his hand and the brush, fucking back and forth between Dean’s thighs must be more painful for Dean than fucking him dry.

John eventually comes between Dean’s legs, imagines his seed painting his bruised skin. His eyes fall shut right after, before he can even think to extricate himself never mind go to his room, and he mumbles, “Maybe that will soothe it.”

+

The next morning, John is, unsurprisingly, hangover. He’s also in the wrong bed, and his hands hurt, though not more than his head. It’s been a while since he last drunk this much, way before he bought Dean, and he tries to remember what happened last night. He remembers leaving the garage, angry at something stupid, and he remembers the bar, the pretty brunette that made sweet eyes that him but looked all wrong. 

John remembers coming home, stumbling to Dean’s room and Dean’s bed, and feels sick to his stomach. He remembers Dean crying, remembers Dean cowering away from him, trying to push John off, and he remembers - god, he remembers how he  _ punished  _ Dean, with his hands and with a fucking wooden hairbrush. John’s hands throb as if to remind him. 

He rolls over onto his back with a grunt, and promptly almost falls over the bed in his haste to get up when he realizes Dean is not next to him. Before he can panic, though, he starts to smell grease cooking downstairs. John spends a solid minute wondering if they teach this to slaves, how to treat their master’s hangovers, before he manages to talk himself into a shower.

By the time he gets downstairs, John feels more human, though only moderately.

“Master,” Dean greets him, head bent and shoulders straight, all proper and respectful.

Whatever temporary relief John got from the shower vanishes, and he feels as filthy as when he woke up. “No, Dean, please,” he chokes out. “You don’t have to -  _ be  _ like that, it’s. It’s just me.”

Dean looks at him with that confused look he gets sometimes. 

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” John sighs. He sinks down on one of the chairs at the kitchen table and lets his head hang between his shoulders. “I’m  _ so  _ sorry.” He’s got nothing else to say after that, he’s so ashamed at himself; he felt like shit and took it all out on Dean - gentle, eager to please Dean, who deserves so much better than John’s drunken ass.

Dean is quiet, too, for the longest time. After John adds nothing else, Dean says, calmly, “You have nothing to apologize for, Sir.”

John laughs, dry. “I hurt you,” he says, and how can Dean not  _ see  _ that. “Fuck, I made you bruise, Dean, I remember.” He glances at Dean’s legs, covered by one of the sweats John got for him. 

“The punishment, Sir,” Dean says, like he understands now. “But I deserved to be punished. I - my behavior was - it was disgusting, Sir,” he spits out, like he really believes it.

“You didn’t deserve to be punished like that. I was just angry, I took it out on you,” John admits.

Dean doesn’t say anything. When John looks up, he finds him fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “You were sad, last night,” he says eventually. 

John frowns, confused. “What?”

Dean looks up to meet his eyes, and they’re as sweet as ever looking at John, none of the menace John expected and deserves. “When you came to bed last night, you were sad, Sir. Angry, too, like you said, but sad.”

John keeps staring at him, uncomprehending. Then, because Dean seems to be waiting for some sort of an answer, he says, “I guess.”

“After you punished me, did you not feel better?” Dean reasons.

Shame burns hot in John’s gut. He remembers the relief he felt, bringing his hand down on Dean’s thighs over and over. “I shouldn't have,” John insists. “I only felt better because I took it out on you, and that’s not healthy.”

Dean takes a very careful step closer to him, and John hates having made him this tense. “I don’t understand why you say that, Sir. I am here to please you, to make you feel better, and last night - it did that for you. It made you feel better,” Dean explains, patient.

It’s the most John’s heard him say at once, and it shocks him. “It didn’t hurt you?” he asks.

Dean simply shrugs. “If my pain is what pleases you, then I will take the pain. To please you.”

John, for the first time maybe, realizes how deeply and genuinely Dean means that. All this time, even when he first visited the slave facility, he thought that this was something Dean had to endure, but he sees now, he got it all wrong. Dean is a slave, he so easily puts John’s pleasure above his own and doesn’t find anything strange or offensive about that. 

John doesn’t want to like that, but he does. It makes him feel warm and taken care of in a way he hasn’t since Mary was alive. Truth is, if John had wanted to only get his cock wet, he could have hired a whore. He could have found a nice girl like the one from the bar, but John had wanted more than that. 

He’d wanted someone to warm his bed and make his house feel like a home again, make him feel at peace, and Dean does all of that. He does it simply, too, takes such pure pleasure in it, and John, selfishly, doesn’t want to deprive him of that - doesn’t want to deprive either of them of that.

“Come here,” John tells him. 

Dean walks up to him hesitantly.

John takes Dean’s face into his hands, gently, like Dean is something precious, because he is, and presses a kiss to his forehead. “You’re so good to me,” he whispers, and it’s like it’s coming from his gut, he feels it so deep inside him. 

Dean flushes, this deep, deep red that has him ducking his head . 

“It’s true,” John assures him. “Now, you must be really sore. How about some cream?”

“I - you don’t have to do that, Sir. I can take care of it,” Dean says. 

“You don’t have to,” John tells him, and sees a stunned look pass over Dean’s face. “Now, let’s go.” 

John takes Dean to the living room. He sits down in the coffee table and guides Dean to stand between his legs. He gently lowers Dean’s sweatpants, and sees that Dean’s not wearing any underwear. 

John raises his eyebrow expectantly, and Dean stiffens. “I - I’m sorry, Sir,” he hurries to say. “The - the panties, they chafed and I - it hurt. I didn’t think you would mind. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, Dean, it’s okay, don’t worry,” John tells him. He runs a gentle thumb over his cheekbone, and Dean leans into it. “Just don’t make a habit out of it, okay?” It’s not that John doesn’t appreciate ease of access, but Dean just looks so pretty in the things that John buys for him.

Dean shakes his head, once. “No, Sir, I won’t,” he says.

John helps Dean out of his sweats and then runs to the bathroom to grab the cream and a large towel. He spreads the towel out over the sofa, and has Dean lay down on top of it. Dean hisses as he tries to get comfortable, and John can see why. The skin of his thighs is an angry red all over, purple, almost, in the places John remembers striking repeatedly. John can make out a handful of lines, too, on each thigh, thin as scratches, and realizes those are probably the spots where he broke skin. 

He reaches out and cups a hand around the thigh closest to him, tentative, right under the crease of Dean’s ass. The skin is there is more purple than red, and it feels hot and tender under John’s rough palm. John should feel guilty, and he does, kind of, but mostly he feels - satisfied. His heart speeds up and he feels  _ thrilled  _ to see his mark on Dean’s body in such a vulgar way.

“Really did a number on you, huh?” John says, mostly to himself. He doesn’t meant to, but he sounds impressed anyway.

John is not expecting much of an answer, but Dean gives him a small shrug. “I deserved it,” he admits. 

Dean sounds guilty, but there’s more to it than that. John glances at his face and sees his eyes screwed shut, his lips curled in something John can only recognize as disgust. “For refusing me?” John decides to ask, keeping his voice even. 

Dean nods. Then, he says, almost pained, “Yes, Sir.” 

John frowns. “Dean, uhm,” he starts, struggling for the right words; talking has never really been John’s strong suit, and it used to irk Mary to no end. “You’re a great slave, you try so hard to be good for me, but you - you make mistakes sometimes.” Dean flinches at the reminder of his failure, and John isn’t surprised; he just runs a soothing hand over Dean’s ass, where the skin is the least red, because this is not about hurting him. 

“This particular one, it seems like it hit you pretty hard,” John finishes. He uncaps the cream and squeezes out a generous amount in his hand. He doesn’t wait for it to warm up - he thinks Dean will feel more relief if the cream is cold - and starts rubbing into Dean’s reddened skin. 

Dean flinches once John first touches him, but he melts into it pretty quickly. He lets out a long breath and settles into the couch as John fingers gently work their way deeper and deeper into his thigh. 

“Dean,” John reminds him, and feels Dean tense under his hand. It’s almost enough to make him regret his question in the first plane, but but quite.

“Sorry, Sir,” Dean murmurs. “It’s - it’s the first rule they teach us: your Master’s will is your own. When you deliberately refuse your Master’s will it’s - I - ” Dean has to stop and take a breath. Fine tremors have started to go through him, and John can see how deeply this is affecting him, the mere thought of disobeying John that way.

“Hey, hey, shh,” John murmurs. He rubs his clean hand over Dean’s lower back to keep him grounded. “It’s okay, I’m not mad at you anymore,” he says. The tremors haven’t stopped, but Dean’s breath has evened out now at least. 

John works as much of the cream as he can into Dean’s skin and then pours some more into his hand. “Gonna move a little higher now, okay? This might hurt a bit.” he starts working on the meatiest part of Dean’s thigh, where the bruising is worst, and Dean hisses. John can tell Dean needs a little more from him right now, so he keeps talking. 

“You took your punishment very well last night. You were so strong, baby” he says. Dean shudders, but John thinks it’s got more to do with the praise rather than the sting of pain. John finds he likes that, too, making Dean feel good, more than he thought he would, though that seems to be the story of his entire entree into the world of slavery. 

“You looked, pretty, too, did I mention that?” John goes on. He applies some more cream where he broke Dean’s skin last night, trying to keep his touch as gentle as he can bear, but Dean still hisses. “I’m sorry, baby,” John says honestly. “I’m almost done with this part.”

He makes quick work of the rest of bruising, though it doesn’t make much of a difference since he doesn’t want to half-ass it. After, he moves to Dean’s ass, where the bruising is still bad but not the worst, and works on that for a bit. Dean makes a content noise when John’s fingers steadily dig into the soft flesh, and even arches his back, just a bit, so John slows his hands, encourages Dean to enjoy it.

Eventually, John has to move on to the other leg, but he keeps up a steady stream of words as he goes. He tells Dean how pretty he looked and how proud John is of him, and for all that Dean blushes when faced with praise, he basks in it, and by the time John is done, Dean’s got a dopey smile on his face and hearts in his eyes that make John’s stomach feel all tight.

“I’m gonna go bring some ice, okay?” John tells him, rubbing the last of the cream into Dean’s lower back. Dean looks mildly alarmed for a moment, but he relaxes after John assures him he’ll be right back. 

John hurries to the freezer for an ice pack, and returns to his seat on the coffee table. Dean makes a soft sound when John places the ice pack on his thigh, even though John has wrapped a towel around it. John thinks it’s all kind of adorable, honestly, which is maybe a strange thought to have not twelve hours after spanking Dean’s ass red and blue. Then again, maybe it’s not, because Dean seems to have John’s head filled with filth half the time, and his stomach twisted with warmth the rest of it, so why would this be any different.

“Hey, Dean,” John whispers, “What would you like - as a reward, for how good you were?”

Dean’s eyes blink up at John, lazy for a moment before Dean tenses all over again. “But I wasn’t good,” he says, slowly, like he’s struggling to understand. 

John huffs. He moves the ice pack to Dean’s other thigh. “Well, you made me feel good, so now you get to choose something you want,” he says. 

Dean looks away, just for a second. “You’ve already done so much for me, Sir,” he says, fiddling with a loose thread in the couch cushion. “I don’t want to be greedy.”

_ Greedy _ , John thinks. That’s another word Dean seems to get irrationally stuck on sometimes, but that’s not for now.

“You wouldn’t be,” John assures him. “I’m telling you that it’s okay to ask.”

Dean still seems uncertain, and John has to tap into the kind of patience he didn’t know he had up until now, but Dean doesn’t hold out for long. “I - ” he starts, cuts himself off right after. Then, almost inaudible, he says, “A kiss.”

John blinks. He isn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t this.

“I’ve never - is that okay?” Dean asks. He’s blushing the pretty pink John has come associate with sweetness and biting his lips, embarrassed.

Instead of answering, John gets to his knees on the carpet by Dean’s head and cups a cold hand over his jaw. Dean shivers, but his eyes are wide and trusting, his lip slipping from between his teeth. 

“Yeah, that’s okay, baby,” John says. He leans in, and the angle is all wrong, and his mouth is too dry, but Dean’s lips are so soft, his cheeks so warm. John kisses him gently, and Dean presses into it, lips easily parting for John’s tongue. He doesn’t really kiss John back as much as he allows John to kiss him, and John isn’t used to that, but he likes it nonetheless.

+

After that, John makes a legitimate effort to pick up a couple of handbooks for new owners, to actually sit down and read them. He doesn’t expect to like them, he thinks them will be boring, but he finds himself unable to put them down. 

John learns a lot of things, things that he feels stupid not having researched before buying a slave. He learns that slaves have an incredibly deep seated need to please their Masters, which he had already sort of figured from Dean, but the book makes him realize just how deep that need runs. 

John also learns that “praise slut” is almost as bad as calling a slave “ungrateful”, which in turn is almost as bad a slave outright refusing their Master’s order. He supposes that explains why Dean is so self conscious about his constant need to be reassured, and makes careful note of it.

The more John reads, the comfortable he feels, and he stops worrying so much about what Dean wants.  He doesn't know if those three things are truly connected, but he likes to think they are. Likes to think at least that much of himself. 


	3. Chapter 3

Men babble, this is a fact. They babble about sex the most, probably, and Mike is no exception. Usually, John lets most of what Mike wash right over him, making appropriate sounds whenever the need rises. 

Every once in a while, though, Mike will actually say something worthwhile, and John pays attention to that. This time, it’s something called ‘cockwarming’, which Mike tried with his own slave, and swears up and down is awesome. 

John takes that with a grain of salt, but the next time he has to get some work done in his office, he calls Dean and has him fit himself under John’s desk, on his knees. He unbuckles his jeans and guides his soft cock in Dean’s mouth, but stops him when Dean tries to suck on it.

“I want you to not move your mouth at all, okay, baby?” John says, and Dean tries to nod around John’s cock but catches himself just in time. “There you go. Now I’ll do some paperwork for the garage and you can keep my cock warm for me.”

Dean obediently does as John asked, and he doesn’t move his mouth at all. He doesn’t swallow, and doesn’t move his tongue either, or his lips, so after a while, there’s spit overflowing his mouth, starting to dribble down his chin. Every few minutes or so, John will move his hips, thrust into Dean’s mouth.

John only has about half an hour’s worth of work, but he keeps getting distracted by Dean’s mouth, even though it’s not doing anything per se, so it all takes him closer to one hour. When he’s done, John shuts the garage’s accounting books and shoves them aside probably more forcefully than they deserve. 

“Okay, baby, I’m done.” He sighs. “I want you to get me hard now, can you do that.” He runs a hand through Dean's hair and feels him nod eagerly. 

It doesn’t take much to get John there, not after having spent the past hour with his cock in Dean’s mouth.

Dean starts sucking on John’s cock, wet and slurping because there’s still more spit in his mouth than he knows what to do with. John doesn’t mind, he likes the sounds. Dean swirls his tongue over the head of John’s dick and swallows him down as far as he can, until John feels his gag reflex kick in. Dean still can’t take John all the way, not without John’s hand pushing his head down, but he’s getting there, and, anyway, John can appreciate his efforts.

“That’s it, you’re doing good,” he murmurs. His dick is hard now, starting to stretch Dean’s lips. John puts his hands on either side of Dean’s head, sinks his fingers into his hair. “Put your hands behind your back,” he tells him. 

Dean looks up at John with sweet, wet eyes, and does as John tells him. His lips are red and shiny, stretched obscenely around John’s thick dick, and John can’t help thrusting into his mouth. He goes slow at first, not wanting to overwhelm Dean, but keeps his thrusts deep because he still wants to enjoy himself. 

Dean splutters every time John pushes forward, past where Dean feels comfortable taking him and well into Dean’s throat. John moves one of his hands to the side of Dean’s neck, wraps his fingers gently around it so he can feel his cock breaching his throat each time. Dean keeps looking up at him, eyes fluttering shut whenever John stays in his throat for a bit too long, and eventually tears start spilling over, rolling down his cheeks and into his hair. 

John, until Dean, didn’t know how someone could look beautiful while messed up, but he gets it now. 

“Fuck, get up here.” John pulls his cock out of Dean’s mouth without warning, and Dean starts coughing, loses his balance and falls face first into John’s lap. John sighs and helps him up. “Bend over the desk.”

“Spread your legs,” John says gruffly. He spits in his hand and jerks himself off a couple of times.

Dean tries to spread his legs, but his toes are barely touching the floor as it is. 

John grunts and pushes his knees between Dean’s legs. “Come on, you can do better than that,” he says. He pushes his knees open and Dean splutters, off balance as his legs are forced open. “See, that wasn’t hard,” John  mumbles. 

Dean is wearing a skirt today, so it’s easy for John to hike it up until he can see a pair of pink lacy panties underneath. “Oh, what’s this,” he says. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and pulls it away from Dean’s skin, letting it go so it snaps against his ass. Dean flinches. 

“Got all dressed up and pretty for me?” John goes on. He takes each of Dean’s cheeks into his hands and squeezes them roughly, pulling them apart and pushing them back together as he pleases. “I asked you a question, Dean,” he says, slapping his hand down on Dean’s cheek. 

Dean jumps. “I’m sorry, Sir, yes,” he says. His voice sounds wet, and John loves it so much like this. 

“Yes what?” John presses. He pushes his thumb against Dean’s hole, rubbing the cheap lace into it. 

Dean’s hole twitches around the scratchy fabric, and he takes in a ragged breath. “Yes, I got dressed up for you,” he admits, voice quiet. 

John smiles. He’s so proud of Dean sometimes, proud of how much better he’s getting at being John’s slave. “That’s good, baby. Thank you,” he says. 

John grabs the lube from his pocket and makes quick work of slicking up his fingers. He doesn’t bother pulling Dean’s panties off, just holds them off to the side until he can rub slick fingers over his hole. He pushes two fingers into Dean’s hole and starts fucking him right away, doesn’t have the patience to work him up to it today.

Dean takes it, of course he does. His breath hitches and his thighs tremble, but he lays there and takes John’s fingers like he was made for it. 

After a few seconds, John adds a third one. It’s probably too soon, and Dean yelps but doesn’t fight him. John can feel him relaxing around his fingers, bit by bit. He spreads his fingers as far apart as he can go to speed up the process, and Dean whimpers, thighs twitching like he wants to close them, keep John out.

John rolls his eyes and slaps his ass again, and that settles him. Pretty soon, he can’t wait anymore, and he pulls his fingers out. He holds Dea’s panties aside and pushes both his thumbs into his hole, pulling them apart to see how far Dean's rim can stretch.

Dean whines at the feeling of cold air touching his insides, and John’s mouth salivates.

“Come on, I want you to ride me,” he says, with one more slap to Dean’s ass, just to watch it jiggle. 

Dean sits up and turns to face John. His eyes are wet and his lips swollen, either from the blowjob or his own teeth, John isn’t sure; probably both, he thinks.

“Wait,” John stops him before Dean straddles him. “Take this off.” He helps pull Dean’s dress off him and then throws it aside. “And this.” He gestures to Dean’s bra, a matching one with the panties, and Dean takes that off as well. 

“Your back to my chest, like this,” JOhn tells him. He helps Dean get situated, his knees on either side of JOhn’s hips and his ass over John’s cock, his back to John’s chest. 

“Like that, that’s good, baby. Now I want you to take me in and ride me, think you can do that,” John murmurs softly. He drags his nose along Dean’s jaw and feels Dean shiver at the affection.

Dean nods. He reaches between them and takes John’s dick in his hand and guides it to his hole. John lets his hands rest on Dean’s hips, lets Dean take his time. He chokes on his breath once Dean finally starts sinking down on him, and digs his fingers into Dean’s skin. Dean is excruciatingly tight inside, and hot, and John knows he’ll never get enough of this.

Dean stops about halfway there. Sweat has started to break out over his temples and his thighs have started to shake. John can imagine how his face is screwed up in concertation, eyebrows twisting together so innocently. 

John tries to wait him out for a few seconds, but Dean doesn’t start moving again, so John just starts pushing him down instead. Dean whines, his hole clenching around John’s dick, but John keeps pushing, pulling Dean’s hips down as he thrusts up, and soon enough, he can feel Dean’s ass on his groin. 

“There you go, baby,” John starts mumbling then, because he can feel how hard Dean is shaking. “See how your pussy opened right up for me, swallowed me down whole. I know it hurts a bit, but I want you to breathe, okay?” 

John starts grinding his hips into Dean’s ass, rocking in and out of his hole a few inches at a time as Dean gets accustomed to his size. Dean keeps making these tiny, choked up sounds, like he’s in pain but is trying to hide it, and John smiles at the gesture. He presses dry kisses to Dean’s back and his shoulders.

John wraps his hand around Dean’s neck and pulls him back, forcing Dean to lay his head on John’s shoulder. His back is arched like this, and John’s cock slips in even deeper, knocking a strangled cry out of Dean. “Fuck, baby, you’re just perfect. Your pussy is taking me in so deep, like it can’t get enough, huh?” John murmurs. 

He peeks over Dean’s shoulder, at his stomach, and sees his cock bulging the small area there. “Fuck,” he breathes. He wraps his free arm around Dean’s waist and lets his hand rest on Dean’s stomach, and he can feel himself there, feel his dick fucking through Dean’s insides, so big that John can feel it all the way through to the other side. 

“Jesus, baby, can you see that, see how deep I’m fucking you?” John presses his palm into Dean’s stomach at the same time as he pushes his dick into his ass, and Dean whimpers, high and wet and so fucking girly it makes John’s ears ring and mouth drool. “I’m as deep in your pussy as I can go, could knock you up like this. Could get you so full of my come you wouldn’t even be able move after,” John pants. “Would you like that?”

Dean just whimpers in response, and maybe if John wasn't so close to blowing his load he’d care more, but as it is, he doesn’t mind. 

He shoves his fingers into Dean’s mouth, deep enough to make him gag. “Suck,” he says, and feels Dean’s tongue start to swirl around them. He wonders if he’ll ever stop being so affected by Dean’s blind obedience, and thinks not, for now.

John pulls his fingers out of Dean’s mouth and moves them to his nipples, rubs at them until they’re good and hard and then starts plucking at them, rough and careless until Dean is crying out near-constantly.

“I know you love this, baby, you love it when I play with your nipples,” John pants. “Tell me.”

“I love it, Sir,” Dean whispers. “I love it when you play with my nipples.” Dean’s voice is what does it for John, the way he sounds raw and strained on John’s dick.

John starts thrusting jerkily, a handful of times, each thrust knocking Dean’s breath out of him, and then he stops, buries himself as deep into Dean’s hole as he can and comes, hard enough that he swears his vision whites out for a second. 

+

After that, it’s like something slowly but surely starts to snap inside John. He can’t stop the filth spewing out of his mouth anymore, and after a point he stops trying. Sometimes, he worries about how all this might make Dean feel, but it only takes one look at Dean’s blissed out face whenever John’s talking about how good his pussy feels to realize that Dean could care less about what John chooses to call his ass, as long as he slaps ‘good’ in front of it. 

Other times John’s worries about what this says about him. He wonders if he has always been like this, or it this is something Dean’s brought out in him. In either case, John knows he’d never dream of doing these things to Mary, Mary was too good for that, but he doesn’t have to worry about that with Dean. 

+

On weekends, John likes to watch Dean cook. 

Dean wears almost exclusively dresses inside the house now, and when it’s time for him to prepare dinner, he’ll tie an apron around him waist, a frilly pink one that John had gotten for mary as a joke but somehow fits Dean perfectly. He’ll putter around the kitchen in his frilly apron, getting things together using the stool whenever he has to because he still can’t reach everything, and politely decline John’s half hearted offers of help. 

Watching him gets John going, is the point. And John holds out, for a while, until he remembers that he doesn’t have to, he can do whatever he wants. He walks up to Dean during the frying portion of the dinner preparation, which is a shame, it means that whatever’s Dean got cooking will most likely need to be thrown away, but that’s okay.

“Dinner is going to be another twenty minutes, Sir,” Dean tells him. He has to crane his neck up to meet John’s eyes. 

“That’s okay,” John says. “I don’t mind.” He undoes his pants, and Dean glances down at where his hard cock is pressed against his underwear.

“Sir, I - ” he says, and John cuts him off. 

“Bend over.” John wraps one hand around his dick and turns the stove off with the other one. 

“But the food,” Dean tries to argue, valiant, but it dies on his tongue once he notices John’s glare. “Sorry, Master,” he murmurs. He slowly turns around and folds himself over the counter, presenting his ass to John. 

Dean is wearing a pastel yellow dress today, far too short for polite company. Even like this, John can see the bottom of his ass cheeks, milky and smooth, begging to be touched. He pushes his hands under Dean’s dress and rubs his ass, thumbs inching closer to his crack until they find the strip of fabric snugly fitted there. John’s eyes widen so much, he thinks they might just pop out of his skull. 

“Jesus, baby,” he breathes. He flips the dress up, and, sure enough, Dean is wearing a thong. “No wonder you got me all crazy. Walking around in this, begging for it.”

John sips a finger under the thong and lets it snap against Dean’s crack. 

Dean jerks, his knee bangs into the cupboards underneath him. “Laundry day,” he says quietly. 

“Sure, baby,” John coos at him. He does it again and again, until Dean’s skin has started to redden and the thong feels stretched-out.

John didn’t think ahead to bringing some lube with him, and for a moment his stomach sinks at the thought of having to stop to go get some. He scans the kitchen for something - anything - that he can use, and his eyes fall onto a stick butter, left unwrapped next to the pan. John feels a sudden rush and has to take a breath to clear his mind. 

Dean lets out a soft whine when he sees John reach for the butter, and John, without thinking about it, says, “Your hungry hole’s gonna love that, huh, baby?” He blushes furiously after the words leave his mouth and is glad Dean can’t see his face.

John busies himself with pushing Dean’s thong down, and then he takes a glob of butter on his fingers. He slathers some onto Dean’s hole, rubbing it around and in to heat it up, and slicks up his fingers. The butter is thicker that John had anticipated, but he’s fucking Dean almost every day now, so it’s not hard to get one finger into him. The second one is trickier, the butter still cold as John pushes it inside Dean, making him yelp and tense against the counter. 

“Shh, shh, come on now, baby, don’t get all tight on me. You know you want it,” John murmurs. He’s started to grind his cock into Dean’s ass without realizing, and his boxers are all messy with butter. Not as messy as Dean’s hole, though, which looks fucking filthy lathered up in butter, makes John’s mouth water.

John grabs some lube and hastily swipes it over his fingers. He pushes three fingers inside Dean this time and feels Dean deliberately relax around them. His breath slows, turns deep and even like John’s noticed sometimes when Dean is trying to adjust to his size. “There you go, honey,” John babbles on. 

He fucks Dean like that a handful of times, and then pulls his fingers out. He rubs some fresh butter onto his cock, jerking at the change in temperature, and fucks between Dean’s cheeks a couple of times before finally pushing inside. 

Dean’s breath quivers as John’s enters him, his hole fluttering around John’s cock. John knows Dean is only trying to stretch enough to take him, but it feels like he’s trying to suck John’s dick deeper inside, and can’t help pushing in and in until he’s buried to the hilt. 

John pulls back, the tip of his cock catching on Dean’s clinging hole. Dean gulps for breath, his slender fingers turning white where they’re pressed against the wall. John reaches out and grabs his wrists, folding his arms up against his back. He holds Dean’s wrists in place with one hand and grips his dick with the other, holding it steady as he fucks Dean shallowly. 

Dean’s hole makes a wet, squelching sound every time John pulls out, clenching after his cock, and John thinks that’s one of his favorite things about fucking Dean, watching his hole trying to pull itself back together after John forces it open. 

John keeps doing that until he physically can’t anymore, his thighs burning and straining with the effort, and then he pushes himself back in to the hilt. Dean slips on the counter, having lost his balance, and John huffs, annoyed. He lets go of Dean’s wrists and grabs onto his hips instead, lifts Dean up and slams his ass back on his dick. 

Dean chokes, hands scrambling for purchase on the counter, but John just keeps giving it to him, pulling Dean’s hips back every time he thrusts forward, fucking in as deep as he possibly can, wrecking Dean’s small body with his strength. 

After a while, Dean just goes lax against the counter, stops fighting John’s thrusts and lets John have his way with him. “Yeah, baby, that’s it,” John praises him idly. “Let me in, let me fill you up. Breed you full of my come.”

The more he talks, the harder his hips snap against Dean’s ass, and pretty soon Dean’s struggling to breathe, overwhelmed. John doubts Dean can even hear him, so he just spewing filth and figures it doesn’t matter.

“I’m gonna give you so much come it’s gonna drip out of your pussy, baby,” he babbles, “You’re gonna look so pretty, fucked-out and marked with my come, showing everyone whose bitch you are.” John’s face is burning by now, the shit coming out of his mouth plain  _ wrong _ , but his dick is throbbing, his balls aching with the need to come. 

“And then I’m gonna shove it all back in, fuck my come back inside you as deep as it goes, until it catches,” he mumbles, but all his shame evaporates once he feels Dean squeeze down on his cock. John is half sure he imagined it, or maybe it was an accident, but he looks up and Dean’s biting his lip, eyes shut and face mellowed out. Johnf feels it like a punch to the gut. 

“Oh, fuck, baby, you’re perfect,” John breathes. “You’d like that, of course you would. No, you’d love it. My pregnant bitch, always full, ready to take me.”

Dean whimpers, sweet and so,  _ so  _ girly, John can hardly remember why he ever wanted a female slave in the first place. He sinks his fingers into Dean’s hips, nails biting into his skin, and fucks him hard and fast, careless, getting himself off. 

John pulls out as soon as he’s stopped coming, kneeling on the floor between Dean’s legs. Dean starts shaking almost immediately, and he makes the most pathetic sound when John tells him to hold himself open. He does it, though, of course, moves his trembling hands to his ass and pulls his cheeks apart. 

“Can you feel my come?” John asks him. 

“Yes, Sir,” Dean says. His voice is wet, same as every other time John fucks him. His fingers slip on the butter, and he has to dig his nails in to get a proper hold on his asscheeks.

“I want you to push it out,” John says. He sees more than feels Dean tense this time, his swollen rim trying to close but failing. 

“Sir,” he says, a plea, and it sounds like he’s actually crying now. 

“I know you can do it, come on. Push my come out, baby, it’s okay.” John soothes him. He puts his hand on the small of Dean’s back, rubs the tension out of him. “It’s okay, come on, I wanna see.”

Dean whines above him, but John can see his hole twitching, then fluttering open as Dean tries to do as John told him. It takes him a few seconds, but the first drops of John’s come trcikle out, oily where they’ve mixed with the melted butter. 

“Yeah, that’s good, you got it,” John murmurs. He swipes his fingers through the come and butter and pushes back in, has Dean push them out again. A little more comes out this time, and John does it again, keeps at it until Dean can push all of it out. 

“That’s it.” John pushes everything back in and starts fucking Dean with his fingers. “Now I want you to hold it again.”

Almost immediately after he says it, John sees Dean’s hole clench up again. His rim is swollen and red and glistening from the butter and sticky from the come, and John doesn’t even think about it, he leans in and swipes his tongue over it. 

Dean’s hole flutters once, like he’s surprised, but he catches himself quickly and tightens it back up. It still feels open, though, to John’s tongue, tastes like butter, and John licks around it but barely pushes the top of his tongue in because he doesn't want to accidentally suck any of the come out. 

He gets up, slaps Dean’s ass. “I want you to hold that all in your pussy, think you can do that, baby, all by yourself? I know I gave it to you pretty hard, but think you can do it?”

Dean, carefully, slowly, straightens up, John’s come clenched tight in his ass. 

“Yeah, I know you can,” John coos, running a hand down Dean’s side. “And if you do it, then I’ll make you feel really good, baby, I promise.” Today marks a little more than three months after Dean’s operation - John wonders if Dean knows this - and he can’t wait to see more of how Dean’s new body works.

Dean speaks so quietly, John almost doesn’t hear him. “Yes, sir.”

John clears his throat, does up his jeans. “Good. Now, how long until dinner?”

+

After dinner John takes Dean upstairs, undresses him and checks to see if Dean let any of the mess slip out of him. Dean's hole is squeezed shut so tight John thinks it must hurt. He teases it open, tells Dean it's okay to relax now, let it go. Dean does, slowly, and almost immediately Johns come starts trickling out of him. 

John smiles, proud of him. “I knew you could do it, baby. It must have been hard, too, but don’t worry, I got you now,” he says, nuzzling Dean’s smooth stomach. “You know, I checked and the three months are up, did you know this?” John kisses lower on Dean’s stomach, lips trailing down to his groin. 

Dean tenses above him, shaking his head. 

“No?” John drags his lips over the crease between Dean’s thigh and his groin, the thin skin where his balls used to be. “That’s okay. I want to make you feel good now, you want that? I wanna see you come, baby, see you enjoy yourself.” 

John looks up from his position between Dean’s legs to check for his reaction, and finds Dean staring at him, wide eyed. He’s probably confused, John thinks. “Don’t worry about me for now, just lay back and enjoy it.”

Dean is still hesitant but John goes very slow and gentle, planting kisses on Dean's thighs and his groin, his ass, and around his little dick. He kisses it gently and with plenty of spit so his lips don't drag, and then runs his tongue over it, a feather light touch, as soft as he can stand. 

It takes a while, Dean eventually leans into the alien sensation and spreads his legs, makes more room for John between them. “Yeah, there you go, feels good, doesn’t it?” John babbles. He remembers what Mary used to like, and he applies that to Dean, flat swipes of his tongue over his small, soft dick, and some light suction. 

Dean’s hips jerk when John starts sucking on him, legs flailing like he has no idea what to do with them. John can sympathize - he has no idea how new this must be for Dean. He keeps sucking on his tiny dick, scooping Dean’s ass into his hands to encourage him to press against John’s tongue. 

Dean, always good at following instruction, gets with it pretty quickly, legs spreading obscenely further as he tries to rock against John’s mouth. He makes sounds, too, not to the choked up hurt ones John’s used to hearing but something softer, sweeter. 

That seems to work for Dean for a while, but after a few minutes John can tell it’s getting him no further. He remembers Castiel talking about prostate stimulation, so he pulls his mouth away from Dean long enough to suck on two of his fingers, get them wet enough to push them inside Dean. 

John clues in on Dean’s prostate, and Dean writhes beneath him, hips shooting up to John’s mouth. John hooks a hand over his stomach to hold him steady and applies steady pressure onto his prostate with his fingers, trying to coax Dean’s orgasm out. Dean starts babbling at some point, quiet, breathy “Master”s that have John grinding into the mattress. 

John keeps that up for a few minutes, but he can tell that after point this stops working, too. He checks the watch on Dean's nightstand and sees he's been at this for forty minutes now already and decides something’s gotta give. 

John sits up and kneels between Dean’s legs. Dean makes a muffled noise at the loss of John’s mouth, and John shushes him. “This ain't enough for you baby, is it?” he asks sweetly. “I should have known, hungry pussy like yours would need something bigger to fill it up”

Dean whines, arching his back. His fingers twitch where they’re gripping the pillow on either side of his head, like he wants to bring them down and touch himself, but Dean knows better than to try that. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, baby, I got you,” John murmurs. “I’ll give you what you want.”

He reaches for the vaseline on the bedside table and slathers some on his dick, the bare minimum. He doesn’t bother using any on Dean’s ass, or opening him up again, figures he’ll be loose enough from earlier. His cock goes in easy enough, makes him think about the time Dean will be able to take him with no prep at all, just let John spread his legs open and fuck into him, take him deep and easy, but not loose of course. 

Once John is all the way inside, he pulls on Dean's hips until Dean is sitting on his lap. He doesn’t usually bother with Dean’s prostate when he fucks him, unless he wants to hear him cry out, but he zeroes in on it today.

Dean eyes grow wide at the first drag of John's cock over his prostate, and his mouth drops open at the second one. Tiny little sounds start slipping from between his lips, and John loves it, keeps it up. He pulls out until he hears the familiar pop of his cock slipping out if Dean's hole, leaves Dean's hole empty and gaping for a moment, and pushes back in to the hilt, grinds there for a few seconds, always making sure to graze Dean’s prostate make it good for him.

“See, told you I had just what your pussy needed, baby,”

John looks down and Dean's hips are thrust up in this position his tiny cock right in Johns reach. John licks his thumb and places it right over it. Dean's legs twitch and John strokes his hipbone with his other hand 

“Shh shh, I'm gonna be real gentle baby I promise it's just to make you feel good.”

He rubs at Dean's cocklet like he would a clit, pays attention to Dean's face until he's got the pace and the pressure down which is no hard feat; Dean is so easy to read. John can tell when it really starts to work for him, when Dean gets closer to coming than he's been in who knows how long.

Honestly, John wants to take the swollen nub between his fingers and pinch it, see what kind of vile noises he can wring out of Dean that way, but he doesn't. This is a reward, it’s not about John, for once. 

“Yeah baby, you like it when I play with your clit, I make you feel good?” John asks idly, not really aiming for a response, but Dean nods anyway. He looks up at John with glassy filled with adoration and skyly lifts his hips up, wanting more.

John presses his thumb into Dean dick, and Dean wails, his hole twitching around John. John smiles. He does it again and again and a third time and Dean's hole clamps down on his cock, his whole body shaking with it.

Dean looks at John with panicked eyes, and John gets it, this is something Dean’s never felt before. Then Dean squeezes his eyes shut, his tiny cicklet twitches under Johns thumb but nothing comes out of it, just dry spasms.

“That’s it, baby. That felt good, right, you liked it?” John breathes. Dean has grown breathtakingly tight around him, and John doesn’t dare pulls out, just grinds into his hole. 

“You know, good bitches can come with their pussies alone but that's okay, this is your first time we can work on it,” John goes on. He comes on that thought, of Dean being able to come on his cock alone, maybe on command, even, and how tight his ass will feel after. 

John sits there breathing for a few moments, until he realizes Dean is still shaking and there are tears rolling down his cheeks. He pulls out gently and lies next to him, takes Dean in his arms and murmurs sweet words at him until Dean doesn't look quite so shell shocked anymore. 


	4. Chapter 4

“Sir, the things you say, sometimes, do you - ” Dean fumbles. “Do you mean them?” His voice is quiet, and he’s not meeting John’s eyes, like he’s embarrassed.

Honestly, John says a lot of things, most of which he doubts Dean even remembers considering how out of it John gets him, one way or another. “Could you be a bit more specific, baby?” John chuckles.

Dean, impossibly, gets even redder. “Sometimes, you...” he trails off, gathering his thoughts for a moment. “You say things like wanting to fuck me until it - until it catches, until I’m pregnant, and - do you mean that?” Dean asks. 

He looks up at John with wide, innocent eyes, and now it’s John’s turn to blush in embarrassment. If Dean weren’t a slave, he’d known all that is just heat of the moment stuff, but as it is, John’s out of luck. Dean is looking at him, though, patiently waiting for an answer, so John says, “No, no, it’s just - I get carried away, you know.”

John realizes, once the words are out of his mouth, how big of a lie that is. He looks at Dean, at his plump lips and his long lashes and his - fuck, his breasts - and then he looks lower, at Dean’s lap, the emptiness there, and is abruptly filled with disappointment. 

Dean looks away, down at John’s stomach. He squirms under John’s gaze, his shoulders curl into his chest as if he’s trying to make himself smaller, trying to hide from John, like he can tell what John is thinking, and maybe he can, with how attuned to him he is. John realizes, no matter how disappointed he feels, Dean must be feeling twice as hurt, and maybe John shouldn’t care, because Dean is only his slave, but he does, in a way. 

“Hey,” John says gently. He curls his arm around Dean’s narrow waist and pulls him into his chest, lets Dean bury his face in John’s neck. “You’re good for me, Dean,” he tells him, because he loves hurting Dean, loves making him cry, but not like this. 

“I only want to give you what you want, Master,” Dean mumbles. “And this - I can’t. I wish I could.” he sounds absolutely broken at the prospect of depriving John of this, even though it’s not really his fault. Before he bought Dean, John had weighed everything, and he’d decided that physical appearance had been the most important part. The people at the Facility were good, but they weren’t chromosome-changing good, couldn’t give Dean a magical uterus, and John may be a little disappointed, but he doesn’t regret choosing Dean.

“I know, baby,” John says, “I wish that too, but it’s just one little thing, and you already please me so much with everything else that you do for me.” He kisses the top of Dean’s head and squeezes his arms around Dean’s middle.

“At the facility, Master Castiel, he had a slave,” Dean starts, soft like he expects John to shut him down. John is intrigued, though, so he lets his hands roam up and down Dean’s thighs, urges him on. “Gabriel. He liked to fill him him with water, then show him off,” he says, risking a glance at John. 

Something sparks behind John’s eyes, pieces falling into place. His cock hardens between his legs and his fingers squeeze around Dean’s thighs. 

More than anything, John’s disappointed he didn’t come up with this himself. 

“Fill him? Fill him how?” he asks, and it comes out eager, more eager than he’d like it to. His hips jerk, his cock rocking against Dean’s smooth groin, and Dean lets out a shaky breath. John scratches his nails over the milky skin of his thighs to get his attention. “Dean, fill him how?”

“He - uh, he filled Gabriel with water, in his belly, until he was huge,” Dean goes on. He grinds his hips into John’s hesitantly, the most forward he’s been since he walked through John’s door, and it feels good, but it's far too slow for John right now. 

He sinks his fingers into Dean’s hips and pulls him down, guides him into a grinding motion over his hard cock. He pushes and pulls until he gets the angle right, the one that makes Dean’s tiny cock rub against the rough fabric of John’s jeans, has Dean shaking with crude stimulation. 

“What else,” John presses. “Did Castiel use a lot of water?”

Dean nods, mindless. John shoves a hand under his skirt, presses his thumb against Dean’s dick, thinks about what a pity it is that Dean doesn’t get wet there, not even with precum, not anymore. “He used so much water,” he whispers. “Gabriel had to waddle, sometimes, he was so heavy.”

John can’t help but imagine Dean like that, so full that his already bow-legged walk turns into a full-on waddle. He imagines Dean having to ask for help to get up, needing to lie on his side because his belly was too full for any other position. 

“And you want that? You want me to fill you up with water and pretend you’re pregnant?” he says. 

“I know - I know it’s not that same,” Dean says, and he sounds pained, like he often does when he’s disappointed in himself. “I just - I just want to please you, sir.”

Of course it’s not the same, John thinks, it’s nowhere near the same, but the image of Dean on his hands and knees, getting filled with fucking water all because he wants to please John - it’s burning holes through John’s eyes, and John hadn’t realized until now how desperately he wanted this. 

“I know, I know, baby, and you do,” John says. “Fuck, I want that too. Wanna fill you up and pretend you’re heavy with my child.” He grazes his nail over Dean’s nub and holds him steady when he shudders in John’s lap. “Come on, sit still. Take it.” 

All at once, Dean stills, his groin tensing against John’s leg like he’s trying to spread his legs open further. “That’s good. You’re a good girl for me, aren’t you Dean?”

Dean nods, a few times. His face is the same shade of pink it always gets when John refers to him as a girl. Half of John hopes he’ll get over his embarrassment, and the other half wishes he doesn’t, just so he looks like this. 

John plays with Dean’s dick for a few more minutes, rubbing at it through the fabric because he knows it chafes and Dean is more sensitive that way. Dean whines his way through it but doesn’t move, tries so hard to keep his thighs open for John like a good little slut. 

John moves his other hand to Dean’s ass. He shoves Dean’s panties into his crack and rubs them into his hole, hard and taut until Dean’s rim must be rubbed raw. He imagines the fabric worked thin under his fingers.

“Come on, baby, let me feel your pussy,” he says. He grabs fistfulls of Dean's’ panties and pulls them apart, the soft lace giving easily under his strength, ripping open right over Dean’s hole. John wastes no time; he rubs the pads of his fingers over Dean’s rim, feels it still loose and warm from this morning, when he last had him before leaving for work. He pushes in with two fingers, dry, and they goe in, amazingly, with nothing more than a gasp from Dean. 

“I love being inside your cunt, baby,” John starts babbling, and it’s just something about being inside Dean in general that makes his words so uninhibited. “It’s always so soft and warm, opens up for me like it was meant for it.” John scissors his fingers, working Dean open, and Dean whimpers, a pained thing that makes its way up his throat, and John concedes that this might have been too much. 

John pulls out his fingers and shoves them in Dean’s mouth, far enough that he gags but of course doesn’t pulls away. He doesn’t need to tell Dean what to do, Dean knows by now: he swirls his tongue around John’s thick fingers, gets them nice and wet with as much spit as he can. 

Dean doesn’t protest when John pushes his fingers back in his hole, nor when he starts stretching him out, so John guesses this is good enough. He smacks Dean’s hips to get him to lift up and works his pants open one-handed. His dick is red and swollen after grinding against Dean, wet at the tip, but John doesn’t want to risk tearing Dean, putting his ass out of commission. He leans back to spit in his hand and then spreads it over his cock; it’s not much but it’s better than nothing. 

Once John’s dick is as slick as it’s going to get, he uses one hand to guide it to Dean’s hole and the other to pull Dean down on it. It’s a tight fit, more dry than John is used to, and Dean’s hole fights him for it, keeps quivering around the head so John can’t push inside. John tries to be patient for a minute, rubs his fingers around Dean’s rim because that usually does the trick but  that doesn’t seem to work this time. 

John sighs and leans back against the couch. “Come on, baby, you gonna let me in, or not?” he asks, tense. 

Dean’s eyebrows are pinched together, eyes open in apology. 

John’s softens his voice, because he knows that works for Dean ridiculously well, and says, “What’s wrong?”

Dean looks away, embarrassed, but he’s in John’s lap and John feels it when he starts to squirm. 

“Still sore from this morning?” John tries, fighting to keep his tone soft and understanding. 

“A little,” Dean admits. “But it’s okay! I can take it,” he amends quickly; of course he does. 

John gives him a smile. “It’s okay, don’t worry. I’m gonna go slow, okay?” He leans in to place a kiss on Dean’s cheekbone, and the skin burns under his lips. “Can I try again?” he asks. Honestly, he’s gonna try anyway, but he likes giving Dean a choice on a matter he inherently has no choice in.

Dean nods, and this time his face is set in concentration. It makes John smile, proud. 

John thrusts up, not too hard but unrelenting, and Dean whines, eyes growing comically wide in surprise as the tip of John’s cock slips in past his rim. 

“There you go, now let me in all the way,” John murmurs. He keeps a strong arms around Dean’s waist, holding him in place, and works his cock deeper inside him. It’s slow going, slower than John has had to go in a while with Dean, but it’s worth it for the tight friction around his cock, the tight pressure as Dean’s hole gives way to the hardness inside him. 

Once he’s in all the way, his balls pressed to Dean’s ass, he runs a gentle hand through Dean’s hair. “See,” he murmurs. “I knew you could do it.”

Dean looks at him, eyes wet and lashes clumpy, the way John loves him best, and gives him the dreamy look, the one that makes John’s inside all light and twisty. “Thank you, Sir,” he says softly. 

John takes ones of Dean’s hands and places it on his stomach, low, where he knows Dean will be able to feel his cock as John fucks him. “You feel that?” he asks Dean, pushing in as far as Dean’s hole with take him. 

Dean’s eyes widen and his hand clenches on his stomach. He nods, feeling his insides rearrange themselves to accommodate John’s dick. 

“Imagine how that will feel once you’re even fuller, once I’ve filled you with water until your belly is huge and round,” John goes on. He picks up speed, each thrust hard enough that it knocks Dean’s breath out of his lungs and quick enough that it doesn’t let him breathe in again. 

“I don’t think you’ll even be able to feel my cock anymore through all the water sloshing around in there,” John says. “Fuck, you’ll stretch out so nice for me, and I can keep you plugged up like that, water mixed with come until you’re begging me to let you release it. You like the thought of that?”

Dean cries out, tits bouncing with the force of each of John’s thrusts, and John stares at them like he’s hypnotized. He’s pretty sure they’ve grown bigger, and who knows, maybe it’s the hormones, John doesn’t really care. He just leans in and mouths at them through the dress, until the taste of the cheap fabric is too much. 

“Come on, take them out for me,” he says. 

Dean stares at him, uncomprehending, which, he probably is, with how much John’s throwing at him right now. Still, that’s no excuse, and John slaps his ass, as hard as he can with the torn underwear still half in the way. “Take them out for me, I said,” he hisses. 

Dean just looks at him for another seconds, and then, like something slips into gear, he scrambles to obey. Shaky fingers struggle with his dress straps and push the dress down to his stomach. He doesn’t bother unclasping his bra, just pushes that down too, until his tits are free, perky and bouncy on his chest. 

“Good girl,” John says, practically drooling, not that he’ll ever willingly admit that, and seals his lips around one of Dean’s nipples. 

Dean arches into it, at first, and John keeps his tongue gentle as a reward, but his balls are already tightening up, buzzing for release, so he takes Dean’s hard nipple between his teeth and bites down on it, gasps when it makes Dean’s whole body go tight. 

John does it a few times, until he’s barely thrusting his hips at all, just grinding his dick into Dean’s hole, letting Dean milk his come out of him. 

“So good for me, baby, always know what to do,” he says, and feels Dean slump into him, exhausted. John rubs a soothing hand over his stomach, the place where he can still feel his cock, now softening, the place where he imagines he spilled his come. 

+

Despite John’s enthusiasm, it still takes him a week to get everything together. He has to drive to a slave shop in the outskirts of town to get everything he needs, but he thinks it’ll be worth it. He gets home just in time for dinner, and he can see Dean squirm across from him throughout the entire duration of it. John tries to calm him, somewhat, at least until Dean can get through washing the dishes, and then he takes him upstairs.

He lays a towel over Dean’s bed and has him get naked and kneel over it. His tits hang between his arms as he gets on his hands and knees, and John spares a moment to finger his nipples. Dean’s eyes flutter shut once John’s nails graze the bruised skin, his stomach quivering tighty, and John pulls and rubs until Dean’s nipples are hard and aching, most likely. 

John pulls back to slick his finger - just one; Dean has been adjusting to his cock quickly lately and the water is going to open him up even more anyway. “I’m gonna open you up now, okay?” he says, but Dean still jumps at the first touch of John’s fingers over his hole. “Shh, shh,” he murmurs, rubbing his dry thumb over Dean’s rim. 

“We’ve done this part before,” he says. He can tell Dean is nervous, has been for the better part of the day, but it’s okay. John thinks it’s kind of sweet, and he doesn’t mind taking the extra few seconds to calm him down, for now. 

He keeps rubbing Dean’s hole for a few seconds, until he thinks Dean is starting to relax, and then he presses in with his finger. It’s ridiculously easy; Dean is so loose and pliant around him, used to taking things much bigger than John’s finger, and John has to move a hand between his legs, rub himself through his jeans to get the edge off. 

“That’s it,” he goes on. He knows how affected Dean is by his voice. He thrusts his fingers in and out of Dean’s hole a few times, spreading the lube around and then wipes his hand on the sheet. 

John reaches for the enema nozzle and slicks up the tip before pushing it into Dean. Dean is quiet and still, perfectly obedient, but John can see him clenching around the nozzle, like he’s worried it might slip out. John thinks, with how well-fucked he keeps Dean’s hole, that’s not completely unfunded. 

“I’m gonna start now,” John tells him. 

Dean nods, spreading his knees a bit further apart. 

John unclips the enema tube, and water starts flowing into Dean. Nothing happens for a few seconds, both John and Dean holding their breaths, and then Dean jumps, like he’s finally realizing that his insides are starting to fill with water. 

“How does it feel?” John can’t help asking, watching the steady flow of water going inside him. 

“Uhm,” Dean starts, hesitant. “It doesn’t feel like much yet, sir,” he says, but he sounds out of breath. 

John looks at the bag; they’re not even one tenth of the way through. He imagines what Dean will sound like with the whole four litres of water inside him. “That’s okay. There’s a lot left,” he says. He can’t help how ominous it comes out, but he thinks that’s better. 

John keeps one hand on his cock, touching himself over his jeans, but the other he wraps around Dean’s stomach. He spreads his fingers over the skin there so he’ll be able feel the building pressure. It takes a while, but eventually John starts to feel Dean’s belly bulging out, the skin starting to stretch to accommodate the water. 

“How about now?” he asks eagerly, pressing his fingers into Dean’s belly. 

Dean makes a small noise. His muscles tense up, but he catches himself before he starts to squirm. “Heavy,” he gets out. “Feels heavy, sir.”

John hums, satisfied. He checks the bag again, not even a quarter of the way empty. He’d like for this to move faster, but he also enjoys the gradual build up, the steadily rising discomfort Dean must be feeling.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Dean’s entire body turns taut with tension, his belly jumping in John’s hand. He stops breathing, and when John checks, his eyes are squeezed shut, his lips white with how hard he's’ pressing them together. 

“Baby, what is it?” John asks, pressing a kiss to Dean’s sweaty shoulder blade. 

Dean tries to curl into himself, and John tightens his arm around him, holds him in place. “Hurts,” Dean grunts, obviously in pain. 

“Where?” John asks, tries to sound to gentle while he feels his cock soak his underwear with precome. “Show me.”

Dean manages to lift up one of his hands and point to his belly, the lowest part. 

John moves his hand there and starts rubbing in slow circles. “Shh, it’s normal, baby, just a cramp. Just relax,” he says. He keeps rubbing Dean’s belly but it doesn’t seem to help. “Come on, the more you tense up the more it’s going to hurt, now. Relax, let me help you.”

“It hurts a lot.” Dean whines, and John is starting to lose his patience. “Can we stop?” he asks, his voice barely loud enough for John to hear him. 

John sighs, checking the bag. “Sweety,” he tries, and Dean makes a soft, pained noise. “We’re not even a third of the way through. You said you wanted to do this for me, right?” he reasons, knowing how well that works on Dean. 

Dean nods, his sweaty hair sticking to his nape, his shoulders where it can reach. “I did, just - ”

“Try to get down on your elbows,” John cuts him off. “And breathe for me, okay; it will pass.”

Dean does as John tells him, of course. He whines as he re-situates himself, his belly making an ominus gurgling sound, and John rubs him through it, coaxing the water deeper. 

“There you go,” John coos, as Dean starts to relax again. “Is the pain gone?”

Dean nods and then lets his forehead rest against the mattress. “Yes, sir,” he murmurs. He already sounds exhausted, and John can’t hold off anymore; he hastily unbuttons his jeans and shoves his hand into his underwear. He doesn't jerk off - he wants to fuck Dean in a while - just presses his hand against the base of his cock, aching for relief. 

Dean’s belly feels heavier in this position, John realizes. There’s a little more than half the enema left in the bag, and John risks a glance around Dean’s side. Dean’s belly is already sticking out a fair amount, hanging heavy and swollen under him, like his tits, and from this angle he looks like a full blown girl, finally. If John didn’t know any better he’d say Dean really  _ was  _ pregnant, that he’d gotten himself knocked up, and fuck if he didn’t looks all that much hotter for it.  

Dean cramps again, a few times, smaller ones now, and John helps him through them. He keeps checking the bag every few seconds, impatient, wanting to see the final result. With three quarters of the bag gone, though, it’s like something happens, and Dean’s body clamps up entirely, refusing to take anymore. John tries to rub him through it, make him relax, but it doesn’t seem to be working. 

“Baby, come on, you’re almost done,” John tries, but it’s damn near useless too. 

“It hurts so much,” Dean murmurs wetly. “Can we stop - only for a minute? Please, I just need a minute, Sir.” He glances at John over his shoulder, eyes wet and face a ghostly white.

John grits his teeth. He’s ready to say ‘no’, but Dean’s toes are curled tightly, his hands fisted in the sheets, and he honestly doesn’t look like he can take much more. “Okay, baby, okay. We can take a break.” John reaches for the clip next to him on the bed and stops the flow. 

Almost immediately Dean seems to relax, shoulders slumping as his thin frame shakes on the bed. John could probably stop altogether and the effect would be good enough, but he set a goal, and there’s not even that much water left. 

John wants to push Dean, force him to take the rest, but he knows Dean needs a softer hand right now, so he rubs his stomach instead. He uses both hands to get Dean to let the water in and leaves kisses over Dean’s shoulder blades, along his spine. 

“Hmm, you’re being so good for me, baby,” he purrs. 

John keeps talking, his hands moving over Dean’s body. At some point, his palms graze Dean’s tits, and Dean buckles underneath him. John thinks it be good to distract him now, so he sucks his fingers into his mouth, getting them wet, and then moves them back to Dean’s nippes. He starts gentle and keeps it like that, because he knows that’s how Dean likes it best. 

It doesn’t take long before Dean is whimpering near-constantly, arching his back as much as he can with all the water in him to press his tits into John’s fingers. “You want this, baby, huh?” John asks, twisting Dean’s nipples between his fingers.

Dean whines, hips moving in tiny, hitching motions through the air. 

John takes one of his hands away off Dean’s chest and spits on his fingers. He moves his hand between Dean’s legs, rubs the spit over his tiny cock. Dean’s hips buckle, a high pitched noise leaving his lips. John rubs at Dean’s nub soft and quick, like he’s learnt Dean likes it, and pretty soon Dean’s spreading his legs, pushing into it. 

“So pretty, wish you could see yourself. Want me to tell you?” John says, letting the words roll off Dean’s skin.

Dean whimpers above him, but he tilts his head to the side, baring his neck to John, so John takes that as a ‘yes’.

Honestly, Dean looks like a mess, a slutty mess with his legs spread as far as they’ll go like this and his tit pressed into John’s hand. He still has a tube sticking out of him, filling him up like a hungry whore, and he’s pushing into John like he still wants more. And John loves it, but he somehow doubts Dean would be able to handle that much turth right now.

So, he says instead, “You look beautiful, baby. My perfect babygirl.” He nuzzles into the back of Dean's neck, feels him shiver. “You know, when I came to the facility I wanted a girl slave.” John pauses, waits for Dean to tense undrneath him, brace himself for John’s disappointment. Once Dean does, John goes on, “But then I saw you, and I just couldn’t. God, you were so pretty. Even as a boy, you were more beautiful than any of the girls there and I  _ had  _ to have you.”

“And now, with  _ these _ ,” John aqueezes Dean’s tit. “And  _ this _ ,” he runs two fingers over Dean’s cock, which might as well be his clit now for how it works. “And  _ this _ ,” John presses his nose into Dean’s hair, getting longer. “You look so much better,” he says. 

Dean is quiet for a minute, and John worries he might have taken it too far and he won’t be able to convince Dean to continue willingly now, but when he looks at Dean’s face he finds him smiling, this dopey look on his face like he’s totally blissed out hearing his master talk about him like this. 

John leans up to press a kiss to Dean’s cheek. “Can we go on now?” he asks softly. 

Dean nods quickly. He whimpers when John takes his hands away, can’t help himself, and John grins. “After, okay? I’ll take care of you after,” John promises. He makes sure the nozzle is still in place and unclips the tube.

Dean makes a little “Ah,” when the water flow starts again, but other than that he seems content to lay there and let the water flow into him. 

John stares at the bag with a single minded focus, as if that will make the water flow faster, which is doesn’t. Thankfully, the rest of the water goes in smoothly, and Dean cramps up again with just 100mls left, so John rubs his belly again, says, “You’re almost done, I’ll just count to ten and stop, okay?”

Dean whimpers at the thought of having to wait another ten seconds. John doesn’t blame him, but he has to count slow, and by the times he’s made it to ten Dean is a sweaty, panting mess, barely managing to hold himself up. 

“There, that’s it, you took it all. I’m so proud of you,” John murmurs. “I’m gonna take the nozzle out now.”

John pulls the nozzle out gently, some water trickling out after it. Dean gasps, panicked, and his hole closes in what looks like a painful clench. John runs his thumb over it, and there’s no give at all for the first time in a while. 

“Sir, I,” Dean chokes, terrified. “I can’t hold it, just.” His thighs start to shake, and he struggles to get on his knees until John has to press on his shoulders to get him to stay still. 

“Yes, you can,” John argues. He’s been wanting this for so long, and when he finally pulls his cock free of his underwear, it  _ hurts _ . “But I need you to let me,” he says. 

Dean shakes his head. He tries to get one of his hands out from under him, but John has a pretty good grip on his shoulders. Dean keeps struggling, and John sighs. 

“You said you wanted to be good for me, right? This was your idea in the first place,” John says, slicking up his cock one-handed. “And I’ve waited for a long to have you, so are you gonna let me?” He guides his cock to Dean’s hole, tries pushing a couple of times, but his cock just slips over it.

“I - I don’t want to make a mess,” Dean says, soft and quiet, so sweet John feels it straight ot his cock. 

“Oh, you won’t, baby, I’m gonna take care of you,” John murmurs. “Now, come on, let me in.” He lets the last part come out as a command, and Dean’s body slumps underneath him. John tries pushing again and there’s enough give this time for the tip of his cock to pop in.

Dean chokes, his slender fingers twisting around two fistfuls of the bedsheet.

John pushes his cock the rest of the way inside, and has to stop to take a breath. Dean hasn't felt this tight around him since the time he first had him. John wonders if that’s the enema or Dean trying to keep the enema inside him. In any case, it’s a heady feeling, and if John’s not careful, this will be over before he’s even had enough time to enjoy it. 

“Fuck, you feel good,” John grunts. He pulls out until it’s just the tip of his cock keeping Dean open, keeping him plugged up and vulnerable. He stays there for a couple of seconds, his vision swimming from pleasure while Dean whimpers, and then shoves back in, hard enough to push Dean’s knees up the bed a little bit. John does it again, and he swears to god he can hear the water sloshing in Dean’s belly, moving around as John forces himself deeper into Dean. ]

John is sure Dean won’t try to move again, so he takes his hand off Dean’s shoulders and wraps it around his stomach. He spread his fingers out over the spot where he can usually feel his cock if he presses a little, but Dean is so full now that it doesn’t work. John tries to press harder, through the water, and Dean cries out, his ass going painfully tight around John’s cock. 

John laughs - or tries to, really, it comes out more like panting. “Don’t worry, babygirl, I’m not gonna let you make a mess,” he says, thrusting as deep as he physically can, his balls resting against Dean’s rim, but he still can’t feel his dick. 

John doesn’t know which is better: feeling himself fuck Dean through his belly or having Dean so full that he can only feel water? He thinks, for now at least, the second option will do. He wraps both arms around Dean and presses his fingers into his belly, wherever he can find, feeling the unforgiving volume of water there.

“How does it feel now, babygirl?” he asks, rubbing Dean’s sides, where the skin feels almost hollow without water pushing it out. 

“Big, Master. It feels so big. Heavy,” Dean struggles to get the word out, his breath being forced out of him with every thrust of John’s cock. 

John keeps rubbing Dean’s stomach, but it’s not enough, he wants to see too. “Come on, get up on you knees,” he tells Dean. 

At first, Dean doesn’t move, and John wonders if he heard him, but after looking closely, he realizes Dean just  _ can’t  _ get up on his own. John has to blink against the realization: Dean is so full with water that eh can’t even leverage himself up on his knees, like an actual pregnant woman, and it’s all for John. 

“Aw, baby, here, let me help you,” John wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders and gently pulls him up.

Dean cries out once he sits up, arms curling around his belly. John pulls him further back, until Dean’s back is resting on his chest. “Just lean on me, babygirl,” John murmurs, turning to kiss Dean’s neck. 

Dean nods, and, with what looks like a great deal of effort, leans back to sit on John’s lap. He’s crying now, and his face twists up as John forces him to arch his back. 

“There you go,” John purrs. “Does it hurt?”

Dean nods, his eyes squeezed shut. 

“How?” John pushes. He looks down and all he can see are Dean’s tits and a huge, rounded belly. He grins his hips into Dean, working his cock deep as it can go, and Dean gasps. “How, Dean?”

“It’s like,” Dean chokes. “I’m so  _ full _ . I don't - it feels like I might  _ burst _ .” He breaks down into a sob at the last part, and John lets him bury his face in John’s neck, runs soothing fingers through Dean’s hair. 

“Oh, baby, I’m not gonna let that happen,” John promises. “I’m gonna make you feel good.”

Dean opens his eyes and looks up at him, lashes wet and clumpy, so trusting. 

“Here.” John brings his hand to Dean’s mouth, has him lick his fingers. “Get them nice and wet,” he says. 

Dean does, and John moves them to his nipples, works them the way he knows Dean likes. When the spit dries, he has Dean lick them again, and again, until Dean is starting to relax.

John starts thrusting again, shallowly from this position, but it’s more than enough. He looks down again, and he can’t even see Dean’s groin much less what’s left of his dick. Dean looks just like a girl now, a girl with perky tits that are bruised from his attentions and a tight ass that hasn’t quite been worked loose by his cock, and that’s all John could ask for. 

John licks the fingers of his other hand and moves them down to Dean’s groin . Dean jumps when the rough pads of John’s finger first touch his clit, but John soothes him with a gentle kiss. He works Dean’s clit like he did before, with the intention to get him off, but every few seconds he’ll pinch it between his fingers too, keep Dean on his toes. 

“Do I make you feel good, babygirl?” he asks at some point, making sure to angle his thrusts into Dean’s prostate, stimulating him from the inside as much as from the outside. 

Dean is sweaty, his face is deep red, and he starts nodding quickly. “Yes, Master,” he breathes. He keeps squirming in John’s lap, trying to kick his knees out further, but he’s already as open as he can get in this position. “You make me feel amazing, Sir. You’re so good to me.” he’s babbling now, but John so rarely gets to hear it, he lets him go on. 

“You take such good care of me, pay attention to me. You’re such a good Master, perfect,” Dean says, and John is totally unprepared for what that does to him, the flare of sharp pleasure it shoots through him, hearing those words.

“Say it again,” John pants. His hands are working Dean rougher now, and he his hips are moving quicker, but he can’t help it, he’s so close. “Say it again.” He pinches Dean's nipple between his fingers, pulls it away from his body until Dean whimpers loudly. 

“That you’re perfect?” Dean asks.

“No,” John growls. “Say the other - ”

Dean seems to get it then. “You’re such a good Master,” he says again. He almost moans the words, but he’s still Dean, still painfully sincere, so they come half filthy and half honest, and John feels his eyes sting, his cheeks flush. He moves his hand further between Dean’s legs, to his rim, and pushes his fingers through the lube there. 

Dean makes the strangest sound when John touches his clit again, half moan half cry and half knows what else. His eyes snap open and he looks at John like John’s entire fucking world, and John realizes he’s never done this for him before; he’s only used spit and his hands, never eaten him out like a girl, never used lube, never done it properly. He shelves that thought for another time, because he loves hurting Dean and he loves making him cry, but he also loves making him feel good, so good that he can do nothing  _ but  _ cry.

John does that now, uses whatever trick he can come up with, mouthes at Dean’s earlobe and kisses his neck and works him with his dick and his fingers until Dean is crying and shaking. Can barely breathe and needs to hold onto John for balance. 

John’s own body is shaking, trying to keep from coming, his fingers cramping. “Come on, babygirl, give it up for me,” he purrs, and Dean does, his clit convulsing in John’s fingers and his hole clenching around his cock, making him come.

Dean slumps into John’s chest after, and John hugs him close, tries to settle the strange feeling in his stomach. After a few seconds, Dean blinks up at him sweetly, lips curving into a smile, a shy one, and John leans down and kisses it. 

Once John’s cock has started to soften and Dean’s hole is trying to clench shut again, John grabs the plug from where he dumped it on the mattress and pulls out. Dean makes a panicked noise, but John is there right away, pushing the plug into Dean’s hole, because he’s cruel, sometimes, but he’s gonna tell Dean to hold a gallon of water inside him after John’s fucked him open on his cock. 

Once the plug in is and Dean is sure no water will trickle out accidently, John helps him lie down on his side and settles in behind him. He realizes Dean’s bed is far too narrow for this, and John should have thought of that beforehand. They should have done this in John’s bed, but John was so focused on Mary and on John’s bed being their bed, on not wanting to soil it with  _ this _ , but this is who John is now. John loved Mary and Mary is not here now but Dean is and John - well, he doesn’t know if he loves Dean, doesn’t know if a Master can love a Slave, but he doesn’t want Dean to go, which counts for something. 

Later, once John gets hard again, he rolls Dean onto his back and kneels between his legs. He shoves a couple of pillows behind Dean’s waist so he’s comfortable and spreads his legs, pushing them apart as far they’ll go. He rubs his hands over Dean’s belly, pressing wherever he wants, leaving red indents with his nails. 

John takes the plug out of Dean’s hole and pushes in with his cock, fucks Dean just for himself now, hard and fast and deep and probably with not enough lube. He pinches Dean’s nipples with dry fingers until Dean is crying and his muscles are quivering with the effort not to move away. 

He moves to Dean’s thighs then, landing backhands and forehands alternatively until the skin is red and hot to the touch. And when that’s not enough, John rubs his callused palms into Dean’s clit, pressing harder and harder until Dean’s screams, his knees pressing into John’s ribs. 

It takes John longer to come the second time, and when he does, he pulls out and plugs Dean back up, keeping both the water and John’s come safely inside. Dean is crying pretty hard by then, shuddering with every shallow breath, and John takes pleasure in soothing him, gentling him. He lets Dean burrow into his arms and cry and pets his hair, tells him he was good because Dean loves hearing that. 

After, John carries Dean to the bathroom, helps him through that too. He washes him, using up all the hot water, and then towels him dry before applying cooling cream to his thighs and his breasts and groin. 

Once everything is done, John carries Dean to his own bedroom, and if Dean looks confused by that, it’s only for a second. 

+

Epilogue:

John likes taking Dean from behind the best. 

Dean’s estrogen levels have stabilized by now, his tits are finished growing, and he’s come to look as female as he’s going to get, which is pretty damn close. His hips have widened a bit to match his bowlegged walk, and his hair reaches past his chest, wavey and sandy. Like this, John can tangle his fingers in it and pull Dean back onto his cock, and he’s not going to lie and say that this isn’t one of the biggest advantages of longer hair.

John fucks Dean every day now, sometimes twice. When he doesn’t fuck him, he makes sure Dean is stretched open around a plug, keeping his hole loose and hungry to be filled, the way John likes it. Mostly, John has Dean slick himself up so he doesn’t have to bother with it himself, and that makes the illusion that much better, like John comes home and finds Dean’s pussy open and slick for him, waiting. 

Sometimes, Dean gets too loose, stretched out and gaping, which is only natural. John spanks him then, the continuous clench of his muscles tightening his hole back up again. When that doesn’t work, John gives Dean an enema, and Dean’s deep rooted mortification has him clenching down hard enough that his ass feels tight around John’s cock for at least two days after the enema.

John’s also tried figging, but that proved too much for Dean. He was crying within the first two minutes, and John had to give him an enema just to help him calm down, which proved like too much work, really.

John makes Dean come every once in a while too. He likes how sensitive Dean is on his clit, how easy it is to make him whine and buckle in John’s arm when he touches him there, but Dean still needs a lot of stimulation to get off, so John saves that for special occasions, as he promised.

One of those occasions was when Dean got his new breast implants, a few months ago, going from a tight B to a solid C. Dean’s tits had been achy for weeks after, and John wasn’t allowed to touch them, didn’t want to risk any infection or anything like that, so he took his frustration out on Dean’s clit instead. He must have made Dean come at least fifteen times during that first month alone.

It was worth it, though. John brings his arms Dean’s side now, pinches one of Dean’ nipples between his fingers. Dean whines, arching away from John’s rough touch. Impossibly, his nipples grew even more sensitive after the surgery.

When Dean wears his proper clothes now, the ones John buys for him from the girls’ sections, he looks like a real girl. Sometimes John slips when he’s talking about him to other people, outside the house. He calls Dean a ‘she’ and talks about how she’s changed his life. No one seems intrigued by this, having seen Dean all decked out in pastel dresses and skirts of appropriate length.

Sometimes John slips up inside the house, too, either accidentally or on purpose. He calls Dean ‘babygirl’ and a ‘slutty cunt’ in equal measure, sometimes from one minute to the next. John knows that fucks Dean up, but he thinks it has more to do with the speed with which John alternates from tenderness to derogation rather than any pronoun. 

In fact, John has no idea how Dean feels about the pronouns John chooses to use for him. He only knows that Dean responds just as beautifully to ‘good girl’ as he does to ‘good boy’, and that’s more than enough for John.

It’s more than enough for John, the single minded focus with which Dean tries to please him, with no mind for his own pleasure or pain. And of course John wouldn’t dare treat Mary as he does Dean, of hurting her like that. 

John doesn’t love Mary and Dean in the same way, he isn’t sure if he loves Dean at all, to be honest, but he does feel for him more strongly than he’s ever had for anyone since Mary. And that's the closest John can get to Mary these days, and the ache of losing her is still in his chest, but he's got Dean now, and Dean does her best to soothe it.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading :))
> 
> [this is my first fic back into the supernatural fandom after a few years and i'm kind of nervous, so let me know what you thought :))]


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